Wednesday, February 22, 2012

She.

She was a flower that once bloomed to the morning sunshine,

Now she struggles, for she withers with time.

She was the daub of paint on every canvas made,

Now she goes distant, as her colours fade.

She was a dreamer with a zillion stories to tell,

Now she gazes, with nothing to sell.

She was their ray of hope,

Now she battles, only to cope.

She was the pensive to her memories,

Now she stares at the blank pages of her diaries.

...

She was a believer,

Now just a follower.

She was a flower that once bloomed to the morning sunshine,

Now she struggles, for she withers with time.


For all those who look into the mirror and see 'her'.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

To Life

To Passions,
To Dreams,
To Hope,
To Belief,
I'm coming.

To Faith,
To Aspirations,
To Will,
To Desire,
I'm coming.

To Family,
To Love,
To Friendship,
To Virtues,
I'm coming.
...
To Life. Im coming.

For all those who are lost. Life will find you.

Monday, January 16, 2012

The Hurricane (The Flow Part II)

It was a quiet and beautiful day on the Island. The sun was shining bright and the birds were chirping melodiously on the beach. Fresh winds were blowing and the sea felt refreshing. The soul and its breeze were wandering on the beach, hand in hand, relishing the comfort and richness of the beauty of the island when suddenly, a fierce force of the wind hit them.

Their hands lost each other and the soul and its breeze were thrown away in different directions. The sky had turned grey, dark stormy clouds had encircled the island. The sun was no longer visible and it wasn't warm anymore. Somehow, the breeze managed to find the soul lying on the sands - worn out and drained. The breeze caught hold of the soul and pulled it away from the blustery winds.

The winds were harsh and the sky was twisting in ways unimaginable. It was turbulent, gusty like a torrent. Destruction had decided its course.

The soul and breeze tried to look for one safe place. A place to hide, a place to keep each other protected, but in vain. The sky was indefensible. They could do nothing. The breeze had realized that there was no choice and could see only one way to save the soul.

The breeze wrapped the soul in its arms and whispered into the soul's ears one last time. "Its time. Let go. You're not safe with me." It lifted the soul by chin, looked into the latter's eyes and said, "Don't worry. It's the right thing to do." The soul refused to let go and caught hold of the breeze. There was no life without a breath of fresh air - no soul without its breeze. But then, the sky had other plans. This time the winds were fiercer and sky even darker. Trees on the island began to fall. The birds were hiding behind the rocks with fear in their eyes. The storm was tearing the island apart. There was no way out. The soul had realized that there was only one way to shield the life of the island.

It was time.

The sky was still dark and the sun was refusing to come out. The trees were knocked down on the ground, there was no sign of the birds, there were remains of the rocks and branches of trees everywhere. The Island was in ruins. The soul was lying lifeless on a small piece of bark. It was stupefied, numb. A drop of tear was frozen in the corner of an eye. The soul gazed at the ruins of the island and wondered "Was it really the right thing to do?".

For all those who thought IT was the right thing to do.

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Flow

A soul at sea, wandering along the coast, drifting aimlessly, was suddenly hit by a breeze. A gentle yet strong, warm force of wind found the soul and carried it along to the other end where it was able to touch the waters, feel the light ripples at the tip of the feet and hear the soft gushing of the stream. It was the best sensation and the most divine music ever experienced by the soul.

The soul was seated on the soft sand carpet snuggling in the warm blanket of the breeze watching the sun setting and the shadow of the moonlight falling on them, when suddenly the breeze whispered softly into it’s ears – “It’s true.” The soul could feel cold shivers run down its spine as the breeze whispered those words but within a fraction of a second, it was warm once again.

It was a new feeling, a good feeling. The soul had now found its breeze to set sail into the sea.

For all those who just feel like going with the flow.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

A Bitter Sweet Symphony

It was the first time they travelled together in an airplane. She was filled with excitement -bursting with joy and rejoicing with exuberance. He was quiet, responsible and faintly smiling.

The plane landed and she ran towards the nearest exit without even looking back at him. She zoomed past every other passenger – the little creature that she was, managed to surpass all others boarded on the plane. She raced down the escalator like a tiny flash bolt. Just as she reached the last step, her little feet tripped on her untied shoelaces. She stumbled, lost her balance and her chin hit the edge of the escalator. She tumbled and just as her head was about to hit the surface a small hand that came in between her head and the coarse surface saved her. His little hands scraped on the surface while trying to protect her – his little sister.

She was back at the airport, but this time to say goodbye. She hugged him one last time and thought of the times they shared together – happy and sad, good and bad, high and low. He was with her, always. She was going to miss him - her best friend and her worst enemy – her brother.

With a difference of three years and three days, they were as close as hands and feet – distant yet completed the presence of another. It was a bond – stronger than any. They laughed, cried, fought together – with each other.

And today as they complete yet another chapter, the pen is put down, the familiar world they created is turning grey. The places they created, the relationships they formed, and the situations they tackled will return to the imagination from which they came.

A tear rolled down her cheek – the only tear, as she looked at him walking towards the door. Her phoned beeped – Take care little one, I’ll be back in no time. I Love you.

The little castles they built, the imaginary wonderlands they created and the enemies they fought together will remain fresh in her memories forever.

For all those who part only to meet again.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Life Works Out. (A Puppet Show - Part II)

Three simple words – and yet most of the times it seems impossible that these words will figure in our lives one day.

She came and spoke to me in my sleep. Did I hear it right? I don’t think so. It’s a dream, a silly thought – that I wish was somehow true.

I woke up with a smile – a big one. For a change I could actually feel my muscles stretching. I looked into the mirror. So this is what genuine happiness felt like?

I rubbed my eyes hard so that I was sure of what I saw.

There were no more strings attached to my body. The pain was gone and I felt light – almost feather like.

Was it true then?

I had to be sure and there was only one way to do so.

She was standing at the door, gazing out into the open sky – lost in her world. Somehow I mustered all the courage that I had in myself to ask her and just as I opened my mouth, she looked me in the eye and said -

‘I trust you. Don’t let me down.’

I noticed the sun coming out bright and shining and a smile on her face - I think!

In its own funny way – Life does work out.

For all those still waiting for the sun to shine. It will.

- Dedicated to Shruti Swaminathan.

Monday, June 20, 2011

The Season Of Hope

It was the day Teej in the village of Dhulia in Rajasthan. Rajo woke up late, as she went to bed a little after 2 the previous night. She was rereading and the rearranging ‘his’ letters in a small brass jewellery box, a hand down dowry item given to her by her parents on her wedding day three years ago. She carefully folded the last letter, made sure that there were no creases and placed it on top of the pile, closed the lid of the box and sealed it with an old brass lock. She roped the key back into the Moli (a sacred thread) and tied it around her waist so that she would never misplace it; this was the only treasure she possessed – letters from her husband. But, it had been a while since he had written to her. In his last letter, he promised to come home for Teej and that they would celebrate it together just like every year. Rajo remembered how Teej was celebrated in her village since she was a little girl. Teej was the season of happiness, love and colours. Every year the village atmosphere would be filled with the hustling and bustling of the women all dressed in their best clothes and the little jewellery they owned and with the vigor and energy of the young girls as it would soon be their turn to celebrate this festival. It was the festival when the wives would fast for the long lives of their husbands. The season and festival of Teej was marked every year with colourful leheria cloths adorning the skin of every Rajasthani woman, paddy weeds finally popping out on the dry lands of the state, lamps lit in the names of the men of the village and the sweets stolen before the ceremonies by the naughty boys. It was the season of contentment, of cheer, of joy and of glee. It was the season of good spirits, enjoyment and celebration.

But this year it was going to be different; Rajo knew that. This year it was going to be different not only for her but for many other women of the village who were celebrating Teej alone this time. For Rajo, this Teej would be a season of patience, support, hope, belief, faith, trust and most of all it was going to be a season of patriotism. It was an auspicious day and Rajo believed that everything would be the same as before. Peace would be restored again.

The land of her village was not very fertile and so the village men could not earn enough to fend for their families and themselves, so many of them joined the battalion for the love of their families and also for the love of the motherland.

Just as she was getting ready in her red bandej saree and applying Sindoor, Rajo heard a loud knock on her door. She realized that she was very late and her mother – in – law would be angry. She hurried to open the door shouting at herself in her mind for being so careless and lost in nostalgia. She was a dutiful wife and daughter – in – law. She knew that in his absence, it was her duty to take care of the family. She promised to herself to never be so careless again.

As she was opening the door, she pleaded with God to keep her mother – in – law in a good temper. When Rajo opened the door she was relieved that her mother – in – law was not angry, but it was a couple of moments later when she realized a drop of tear running down the latter’s left cheek along with the kohl that she had applied. Rajo was confused. She could not understand why her mother – in – law was upset on such an auspicious day. Rajo’s mother – in – law stepped into the room and started weeping. She muttered a few words that Rajo could not understand because of the sobbing. She then handed out a newspaper. Rajo stared at it. It was the day’s issue of the regional newspaper ‘Rajasthan Patrika’ dated 8th August 1965. She was shocked when she saw the picture on the front page. She felt cold and it certainly was not the chillness of the breeze that was coming through the only window in the room. The icy breeze hit her face so hard that she could not feel anything. She was numb. It looked as if the wind had changed its course. It was only August and winter would never set in so early.

She froze as she stared at the picture. It was a picture of the ongoing Indo – Pak war. The picture was that of the bodies of soldiers that were covered with the tri coloured flag. Rajo could read. She scanned through the article for more information relating to the causalities but found nothing. There was nothing about him, so why should she worry? He is alive. He is fighting for the country. He will come back. He will return to her for it was still the season of hope.

For all those waiting to be reunited.