Vroom Vroom.....

8…7…6…
…5
…4
…3
Vroom…. The accelerator swung to the hilt…
…2……1
Screech! Halt! Red!

Damn!!! She thumped the handle of the bike hard in disappointment, as she saw the red Bajaj Avenger slid through the gap and clear the signal just in time. She stood there right at the yellow line, her gloved hands rhythmically tapping at the wind shield, the rhythm of her impatience. She pulled out the ipod from the pocket of her jacket and hastily flicked through radio stations looking for some catchy number that would drown her disappointment at the no-stake race, she just lost with the stranger.

She hated red lights… she hated having to brake… she hated to halt… hated to lose.

She was Velocity personified. Action, adventure, speed and thrill kept her going. She was among those few people who constantly lived on the edge of life, staring at death every moment and yet managing to duck it. To her everyday was the last of her life, and she wanted to live it to the fullest.

15 more seconds of wait before she would be flying on the wings of speed again.

Just then, a yellow Karizma, glided in a zig-zag from between the cars and stood by her side. There was something different about this new invasion, a presence that somehow demanded attention. She stole a quick admiring look at it, in a way not to make it too conspicuous. “Bold and beautiful!” she thought, with a new glint in her eyes. Here was her next fellow player at the game of SPEED.

The numbers at the signal now started to flicker, 5… 4… 3… 2…
And before it showed 1… she released the brakes and turned the accelerator full on and zipped past the light, overtaking the Karizma, blocking its way. This was often her way to invite a race. She loved to prick a man’s ego and watch him react to it in vengeance. She had known by experience, that no man on the surface of the earth, can ever come to terms with a woman overtaking him on the road. And true to his breed, the yellow Karizma pepped up and in no time was right by her side, speeding. She smiled to herself and then the entire traffic became inconsequential. All she could see was the shining yellow body, all she could hear was the wind slapping hard against her helmet, all that mattered was the speed, the race, the victory.

Both the bikes zipped through the congested lanes of the Airport road in the late evening, at unearthly speed… a little twist of the handle, a little slant to avoid a rear-view mirror…a pulse of brake to let the kid cross the road… and a continuous breath-taking speed. For a moment he would find himself far ahead, and in the next, she would be right besides him. Sometimes, they would lose sight of each other in the crowd and the sting of disappointment would only have seeped skin deep, before they would track each other again.

And the race lasted 15 kms with no true victory or loss, just the points ticking away… sometimes in favour of him, sometimes her. And then came the by-lane, the cleavage on the road where their paths were to part. She gave the left indicator, indicating her departure to him and immediately he was by her side. A stretch of about 200 metres lay in front of them before the turn. Both the bikes by now slowed down, as if panting for breath. They then moved together at the same speed, in perfect sync, in perfect harmony… like the moves of a couple in a beautifully synchronized, romantic, dance performance. They played, they flirted, they communicated, all with the twists and sways of their bike, the distance and proximity between their imaginary loci… the rising and falling of the road like the rhythm of their breath… till the point of the cleavage. There they lingered for a brief second, while their bikes were still in motion. He instantly reached out for the flap of his formula one helmet, and for the first time in the last 20 minutes of their acquaintance, she caught a glimpse of his deep set eyes…and in that moment, she saw nothing else. She couldn’t make out the colour of the eyes, but there was a strange power in them… a power that held you captive for a moment. There was something about those eyes, she thought… something piercing, somethin that knocked straight at your heart… a strange honesty, a strange spark. He gave a slight, reluctant smile and raised his gloved hand in a thumbs-up. She had never experienced this kind of sporting spirit before. She twisted the handle of her bike and slanted towards the turn, her mind totally confused on one hand, and on the other furiously debating whether to return the friendly gesture. She hastily turned her head for one last look of him and there he was still moving slowly across the turn, his gaze fixed in her direction. An instantaneous smile broke on her lips and she raised her hands to him in a hi-five. They both smiled and the next moment, the accelerators were turned full on and both the bikes zoomed off in different directions, bound by different destinations.

:-)

Silence...

Have you sensed the silence before a horrendous, blazing storm breaks?
Have you sensed the silence after the last breath, in a gush, escapes?
The silence as the wild beast before hounding its prey, quietly sniffs…
The silence in the bouncing, frolicking, streams, falling from high cliffs…


And its yet another silence…


At the bright, golden dawns, amidst chirping birds, ringing faith and an occasional hawker calling out on the lone street.
Sipping a cup of coffee, while buzzing through the morning newspaper…
Humming a soft tune, while strolling the side lanes of noisy, bustling streets.
The silence when the soul unites with the universe, and chants the only truth - “The Onkar”.


And yet again I see the beauty of silence…


When we sit and gaze into each other’s eyes, and at that moment, the entire world dissolves into nothingness.
When that little smile breaks on your lips, and that bloom, to my eyes, surpasses the brightest blossoms.
When I lay my head in your lap, and you run your fingers through my hair, in gentle rhythmic strokes,
When I read out to you this stanza or that, from a book, and we listen together not to the words, but the underlying silence of the moment…


The silence when your hand eagerly seeks mine in the dark and amidst the crowds…
And it is still silence when your hands slip from mine, your fingers trailing the length of my palm, till the last tip of the touch…
It is silence you leave behind… the silence of moist eyes, of quivering lips, of trembling hands and crumbling heart…
It is still silence that remains long after you are gone…the silence of blankness, emptiness, solitude, and of an eternal, never ending wait for you…


The silence envelops you and me and converses in a dialect of its own… while we sit with sealed lips and starry eyes.

Note: Some thoughts, some images brought to surface by this... :-)

Soul-mates

He kept glancing at his watch impatiently… He almost expected it to tick twice in a second. It was not yet 6.00, and though his practical sense told him that there was still time, his eyes were already anxiously searching for her amidst the crowd. He had never seen her, she had never met him, and yet they were sure, they would recognize each other the moment their presence overlapped. It was an unsaid test for them, to measure their response to each other’s vibes.

There were still ten minutes to go, while he stood, his eyes fixed at the entrance of the mall. And he saw a girl enter… She was wearing a white, cotton salwar kameez with a bright red dupatta thrown around her neck. His gaze settled on her for a few seconds and his heart it seemed would leap out of his chest. He knew… it was Her.

He started walking towards her as if pulled by a strange magnetic power, she was pulled in his direction by a similar force… and as they stood separated by a couple of feet’s distance, there was a moment of confusion, a shiver that passed through them. They did not know how to greet each other… with a formal shake of a hand, or a more warm gesture of a hug. They had hugged each other several times over the virtual medium of online chat… but that was nothing in comparison to this stark reality… this tangible, flesh and bone person, this face with expressions, with reaction. This was so much more substantial, so much more fearsome and so much more awesome.

With such million thoughts and a myriad of emotions running in their minds and hearts, the confusion prevailed, and they failed to even utter the simple courteous “hello”. With a light smile of quivering lips and uncertain eyes, they walked towards the coffee shop. He ordered her favourite Café Frappe, she chose his simple n plain Cappuccino. After knowing each other for a year now, they knew everything about the other, and yet today was the day to fix the jigsaw puzzle, the last piece of the puzzle, the head was to be placed today… that would determine whether the picture turns out to be an angel or a demon. It was the deciding day of how their relationship would move further, which way their lives would turn.

Slowly conversation began with some effort, intervened by many awkward pauses… And then they started talking about the thing they both were most comfortable with, their chat sessions. They began talking about the several little secrets they had disclosed about themselves, the several, tiny little incidents of life as a child, as an adolescent, as an adult… and they began to laugh their most natural laughs… the soulful laughs… It didn’t matter anymore how the head looked, it fixed perfectly in the puzzle and that was what was important. The very thought contented them and they wished to know what the other felt. Was the comfort both ways? Was the connect mutual? Did the other feel the same?

For a brief moment their eyes met.

His gaze held hers… and it seemed, their hearts melted the silence, that rippled through their eyes…

Their vision blurred, thoughts clouded, and the two hearts together skipped a beat… and before they knew it, the moment passed…
She lowered her gaze, he looked away…

And the next instant, when their eyes met, it was clearly visible, plain, simple, straightforward…His love reflected in her eyes… Her trust shined through his… and the spark of the moment ignited both their souls.

She sipped the last drop of the now cold Cappuccino and they quietly walked out together… her hand in his, their fingers slightly entwined… perhaps emulating their souls which, at that very moment, lay entwined in their own silent, virtual world…

Perhaps this is how soul-mates meet.

Dear Reader, Its been long since I wrote anything... and I would not call it anything, but pure lethargy. And hope that henceforth I shall be more attentive here and responsive. :-)
Cheers!
Meenakshi

A Vignette

[If you are happy and you know it
Clap your hands] – 2
If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Clap your hands…

And the loudest clap and stamp and pat and hurray came from little Aryan, as he skipped and jumped and hopped all around the class. The little bag of wildest mischief was all of 5 years and yet gave tough time to the 2 pretty teachers of his Upper KG. The teachers dreaded this little child, for they knew not what new prank was born in his naughty little head the next minute. Come lunch break and he would be there teasing, pushing and bumping into every child, ever trying to run out of the classroom at the wink of an eye. Miss Sharada had already complained twice about this to his parents in a note in his diary, but got no response.

If you are happy and you know it
Then you really ought to show it
If you are happy and you know it
Say Hurray…

The bell for the lunch break rang and kids jumped up from their places and made a run towards the door. A chaos that was so bewildering that the teachers had to march right in the middle of the herd and take some disciplinary actions in the effort to organize them into lines and walk them to the toilets… Having washed his hands, Aryan casually sneaked in behind Sumit and quietly wiped his hands on his shirt. He then hopped his way towards the classroom, tripping Riya on the way, pulling Gina’s long plaited hair, a nudge of an elbow to Irfan and a bump into Sohail before he landed on his seat with a thud.

"Children! All of you put your heads down, close your eyes… all of you… cmon" came the shrill voice of Miss Sharada, as she put the kids to their afternoon nap after the lunch. Every two minutes, Aryan would pop up his head and look at his classmates, all amused at how peacefully they slept in weird postures. Then he would take out his pencil slowly and poke the kid next to him. The teacher would call out his name…. "Aryan, put your head down". Sometimes he would be punished by the teacher. "Stand up on your bench Aryan!" This was a punishment he looked forward to, because it would give him a better view of the class and outside the window. He would then watch the seniors play in the ground for the entire hour. An hour passed and the evening bell rang.

The kids all got up with double the energies, rushed towards the exit doors, down the lobbies, breaking the queues, pushing each other to get to their Mothers at the earliest. The mothers would scoop up their kids in their arms; give them a little peck on their cheeks, and the happy kids would elaborate in excited tones on the events of the day. Sometimes they got a dairymilk, sometimes a packet of gems from their moms, a reward for being away several hours. Aryan was the last to exit the class, walked slowly to the corridor where his maid waited for him. She picked him up, took his bag and water bottle and walked silently towards the red Ford Fiesta parked outside the gate. As he clung on to her, he noticed the other children being kissed and pampered by their mothers, narrating the whole day’s events to their mothers in a hyper excited tone. Aryan clung on to his maid a little closer. His little fair hands thrown around her dark neck, with his head buried at the nape. He could smell the sweat that drenched her, he could feel her damp skin and clothes and a sour stink that emanated from her dry, parched skin. But this sour stink, the clasp of those strong, bony arms, was far more warm and comforting than the empty air that surrounded him… the void that made him cry out secretly at times. The same stillness that woke him from a deep slumber at the dead of the nights… when his little room with all his favourite cartoon characters on the walls frightened him… he would cling on to his snoopy, like he clung on to his maid. The eventful part of the day was already over and what remained were the drab, lonely hours dedicated to an endless wait for his parents to return from office before he fell asleep.

A Procession...

Blue is the colour of the vast skies,
The colour that colours silent sighs…
Blue of the gems, and blue of the eyes,
Blue is the colour when the body dies…

…blue is the colour when the body dies…
…when the body dies…
…blue is the colour…

There, she laid along the road-side,
Palms up-turned, lips parched and dried,
Flies humming, howering over eyes,
As inch-by-inch she diminished in size…

…inch-by-inch she diminished in size…
…diminished in size…
…inch-by-inch…

And the blues then turned black and brown,
With the wounds that emerged dust crowned…
A few souls die with the body’s crimes…
A few when die, die several times…

…A few when die, die several times…
…several times…
…few souls die…

~And the traffic moved... unmoved... in a procession~

Kshanik Insaan is Off-air for a while!!!

Shrottaon se nivedan hai ki apne aachaar, vichar, bhaav aur pyaar, khaton athwa tippaniyon ke dwara hum tak pahunchaate rahen...

*Asuvidha ke liye khed hai*
The Inconvenience is deeply regretted

Aapki Seva mein
Yours truly,
Meenakshi

-------------------------------------
Love-hate-life

A passionate being she is.
Has for ever been…

Loved herself enough,
To die for her being.

Hated herself even more,
To kill the self in vengeance.

But just not enough indifference
to go on living…
each day, each hour,
every passing moment…

Creating Nirjhira- part 1

Hi everybody, I am posting a part of what I had posted earlier, to maintain the flow. This is the completed part-1. Cheers!

Scene-1

It was a bright starlit night.
The queen of the sky, in her crescent chariot, bedecked in the grandeur of white brilliance, presided over the revelry of the night. She smiled graciously at the performance of her ardent admirers, the prim and prop, well dressed, knights of the night, who well portrayed their skills at the art of chivalry, to amuse the queen.

While this act was brewing up in the heavens, on the surface of earth sat a solitary soul by his window… romancing with the cool breeze, wearing a smile indicative of his lost countenance… a silent spectator to the night’s frolics. The very image of a man, freshly struck by Cupid’s arrows… gazing at the moon, possibly summoning in his mind, lines from love sonnets of Sidney and Spenser… comparing his beloved with the moon. By his window he sat, lost in recollecting every moment of that evening when he had met her. And like all those romantic, passionate hearts that believe in “Love at first sight”, our dear young friend, lost his heart to this beautiful maiden at the party. Just like the hero of all classic love stories, every night, he stares at the moon, like it was a mirror reflecting his thoughts in images, and in that image, he sees his beloved’s face. Thus the queen of the sky once again became the patron of yet another pair of lovers. Today, in an especially gracious disposition, she dismisses her court early and sits in solitude with the lover, both admiring in verbal abundance, the object of his passionate love. But our hero is still a rational lover… now does that sound like an oxymoron? Can love and rationale go together? Well I say so, because this gentleman, warrants moderation in his praise for his lady. See what he tells the moon…

Lover:
No… not so high…
Let her be firmly grounded,
for she fears to fly.

No… not so deep…
Let her be perceived shallow,
than plunge in fair conceit.

Oh! not even so fair…
She’s but the colour of dusk,
Dark nights form her hair.
Her eyes are not coral blue,
But a dark brown affair.

Her temperance?
How do I tell you what it be,
Sometimes, a dormant volcano,
Sometimes, a tempestuous sea.

If coquetry be a maid’s weapon,
She has brandished none,
And yet against her natural charms,
All men and deities summon.

If women feign innocence,
To win the hearts of men,
She feigns a fake cunning,
I know not to what gain?

Timidity, fragility and subservience
Are traits to her unknown.
She possesses a tender heart,
With a mind of her own.

She is not a noted beauty,
Nor has any craft conjured…
In her strength and vulnerability
I find my heart conquered.

Moon:
Bravo! Bravo Young heart!
With each syllable you utter
drips a part of your heart…

Love melts in your words,
Making your voice hoarse…
But such are the ways of love
It must take its own course.

But tell me, does she know?
This so desirable an affliction,
does her countenance show?

Aah! do not hesitate bud…
To speak your heart…
Do not in the least fret
the nature of her retort.

I have been a witness
To many love legends,
And seen many crumble
Under mere fake pretence.

Denial my friend, is an agreeable offence.
Submit to your fate, but only at will’s end.
Let not the heart be turned to lead,
By a few words wanted, left unsaid.

And thus the moon pronounced the woe of many lovers… the tale of broken hearts, of love unrequited. But no… our friend is a man of courage, not easily dithered in his decision. With dawn shall he pledge, his heart love-laden, to his beloved maiden. While the moon and this man did plot the plan… in another corner of the city conspired another man. Now this other man turning out to be, the father of the bride-to-be, is a matter of sheer coincidence. And his conspiracy should concern the subject of her wedding, is again err… providence? hmmmm… Do I smell trouble? lets wait and watch…

------------ end of scene-1 --------------------

Tagged Again :-)

I have been tagged again by Jeevy [Rajeev]... And I have no clue how you create the hyperlink here... so please check for the links in section Kadiyaan towards your right.
This tag as I understand is part of some link exchange... whatever it means... :-)

1. The person who was tagged will just have to make an introduction and link back to who tagged you.
2. List your five reasons as to why you blog.
3. Choose five people and tag them.
4. Drop a comment on their blog to let them know they were tagged. And it’s done!

Five Reasons why I blog: here you go...

1. To share with people the idea of love, the feeling of brotherhood [and sisterhood. grrrr... how dare they forget the better halves?], to contribute to the society in my own little way.... [clap clap... Now do I get the Miss Universe Crown? And yeah my idol is Mother Teresa.] ;-)

2. Okie seriously... I love blogging because I feel a sense of belonging here. Every verse, every story, every word and every blank space here is mine... and I love it. It is like a "feel at home" while in office. [I blog when I am in office... hehehehe]

3. And I love the people here. I may not know each one of you personally, I may not identify you while brushing through you at the malls... I may not identify you at CCD tables, I may not know you while walking through Brigade/ MG Road... But here, the moment you utter a word, I know you... I can relate to you. :-)

4. And I blog because someone somewhere told me... "I can write". So I write... and since I am not the best writer in the world, not even the best in India. So I this is a humble abode for my mediocre dabbles at what I call creativity. And thank you all for bearing with it and encouraging me to write further. Comments mean a lot.

5. The last reason why I blog is because I cannot give sound to my words, my voice fails to word my feelings... and that my characters do for me here... I speak through them. I speak through the stories, the poems here on my blog. Hence, you always feel them more than you read them... because I have no literary genius, no word power... not even great thoughts to share... all I have is these feelings. :-)


Okie and now for the tag hunt... Today, I take this opportunity to Tag...
1. Vibhanshu: You tagged me last time...badla! hehehehe [I know u r busy... take ur time... see I am so good ;-)]
2. AKS: you have been away for quite sometime... so come on punishment time. ;-)
3. Kazarelth: I tagged you last time, but you happily ignored. better answer this time. grrrrrr
4. Protege: hehehehe you asked me where I was... so here I am. :-)
5. Aman: Yes you Standbymind. Comeon... get active. :-)
5. Miraj: Yeah you are tagged too. :-)
Enjoy everybody! cheers!

Sometimes...

Sometimes...
The throat constricts,
eyes widen,
fingers twitch,
a toe nudging on the other...
lips tremble, hesitant,
yet wanting an eager look
of the flushed face, burning hot.
A pressure on the heart,
Sinking it...
...gasping for breath...
the words die on the lips.

Sometimes...
Eyes pour,
wash out everything,
a complete sweep.
Words blurt out in plosives,
explode between the sobs...
and then a numbing silence,
a tipsy weightlessness
morphing into peaceful slumber.

:-)

Tagged!

Wow! I am tagged by Vibhanshu. My first, so I am enjoying it. :-)

1.Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.
I don’t have a scar… marks yes… but not a scar. [See, I have exhibited a positive attitude all my life ;-)]

2. What is on the walls in your room?
Nothing… they are blank. Just one poster on the door. The room is so stuffed that if I were to add even a thing extra, the room would sink from the third floor to the second.

3. What does your phone look like?
Weird, but it feels like a dairy milk bar in my hand. It is motoslim. ;-)

4. What music do you listen to?
All kinds of hindi music with good lyrics and a music that is not too jarry.

5. What is your current desktop picture?


That’s my sweetheart… my niece. Isn’t she cute?

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
Right now I just want to run away from office, home, everything... and land up in an unknown land.

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
No I don’t. Its not productive ;-)

8. What time were you born?
I don’t know :-(

9. Are your parents still together?
…………….

10. What are you listening to?
Right now I am listening to Khamaaj- “mora piya mo se bole naa”


11. Do you get scared of the dark?
Naah…. Scared and me? I am scared of nothing.

12. The last person to make you cry?
Ummmm... my brother, when he scolded me for getting up late in the morning. 9.00 is not that late afterall is it?

13. What is your favorite perfume/cologne?
No favourites, I keep changing.

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
Brown eyes [any shade of brown]. hair: dark brown

15. Do you like pain killers?
I love them when I have a headache. Otherwise no.

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
For a date? Never asked. But I guess I would be.

17. Favorite pizza topping?
Olives and mushrooms… and lots of cheese.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Yummmy, creamy, delicious, hot, Pasta… yummmm

19. Who was the last person you made mad?
My client… hehehehehe

20. Is anyone in love with you?
Aaah love! Yeh ishq nahi aasaan…
Oh did you say in love with me? Sigh… how I wish! Hmmmm ;-)

Okie now who do I tag? Vyom is already tagged by Vibhanshu, Jeevy is already tagged and I see the same set of questions. Aks and Reaper have suddenly disappeared from blogosphere. Sushant has quit blogging. hmmm yep... caught you... Kazarelth, Shammu and Ravali. enjoy. :-)

The twinkling night sky

A streak of bright light sneaked into the room through the gap between the curtains. It was the first light of the day, orange, bright, sharp, penetrating, so fresh that it drains in itself all the tedium, anger and frustration from the eyes that it forces open, replenishing it with hope and happiness. And this particular pair of eyes had a further reason for that special glint in them. A reason that made him smile as he woke up, a smile that originating on his lips reached his eyes, drawing those lines at the corner of the eyes which tell you about the most tender, most vulnerable part of a man’s life and being.

He called up his office and excused himself for 2 days, feigning illness that was not even remotely evident from his happy, ringing voice. They were to reach home by Saturday evening and it was already midweek. The house needed renovation, some drapes, some furnishing, to make it livable for a family. In all his five years of forced bachelorhood, he had not seen his apartment as anything more than a bed to sleep after a tiresome day at work. But now he would have a home. The word “home” for the first time evoked in him feelings indefinable... a strange sense of excitement, a strange longing, a sense of belonging that was beginning to associate itself with the sound of the word home. Finally, he would have a home to get back to. He would have someone open the doors for him when he rings the bell of his own house. He would not have to stare at the blank walls and wonder what to do if he came home early someday. He would not have to switch on the TV, to quieten the buzzing sound of silence in his own ears that had driven him mad many a times. Even the thought of all these lonesome days, made him elapse into a state of gloom, a reverie that was broken by the ringing telephone.

He answered the call. It was his wife, only to confirm the tentative programme schedule in her perfect manager-like fashion. She read out the complete schedule of their departure from London and arrival at Singapore and then the connecting flight to Bangalore. In the background, he could hear his six year old, quarrel with her elder sister for a doll and his heart melted with emotions that only his eyes could relate to. As for his wife, she was busy arranging the travel plans to notice the variations and vibrations in his voice. He assented to everything she said and at last as they were placing the receiver down, she muttered a “love you” in a hesitant, quiet voice, almost a whisper that made his senses tingle. It felt like they were saying this for the first time in all their 10 years of marriage. He managed to respond with a “love you too” that sounded just as mild, amidst the turmoil within him.

Ashutosh and Sujata had been married for a decade now. Theirs had been a love marriage, a love and courtship of more than 4 years that had resulted in their happy union with parent’s consent from both ends. They graduated together from ISBM, one of the reputed management institutes and joined the best software companies in Bangalore as managers. Three years of their life as a happily married couple, passed in a wink and to top that they found great success on the professional front. Both were advancing well in their careers. And then one day, they were blessed with a baby girl. Sujata had quit her job after the 7th month of pregnancy, when they both sat down and discussed the path her career would take thereafter. They both were clear that they wanted two kids and Sujata would have to sacrifice atleast 5 years if not more of her career in the bargain. To minimize the damage to her career, they decided to have the babies one after the other in consecutive years and so came their next daughter in the next year. By then, already at home for over 2 years, Sujata felt that her talent was being wasted. She could not take the burden of home and family and sacrifice her own professional aspirations, while her husband went out to work like before and sought the fulfillment of his ambitions. She was not born to be a home-maker, a mere wife, mother and daughter-in-law and die one day being just that. She was an individual who had talents, ambitions, aspirations that were waiting for her. And she followed her career callings to London, with her two year old girl and one year old infant and their family maid. While Ashutosh, the understanding and loving husband that he was, supported her through her decision. “The physical parting meant nothing”, he said “we are united at heart and in our souls… and then how far is London anyway in this globalized world? You would be just a call away, connected with me the entire day over internet. And then we would ofcourse visit each other every six months”. The telephone calls that were initially a daily routine, became weekly and then fortnightly, and the six-monthly visits turned out to be only at Christmas vacations.

But now all distances would be obliterated. His wife had decided to quit her job and move-in with him in Bangalore. He would see them, each living day of his life. How he ached to hear the voices, to see the lovely faces of his daughters, to play with them, to give them rides over his shoulders, to tickle them and hear their rolling, squealing laughter. “Oh! But lots of work remains” he reminded himself. And quickly got some worksmen to paint the house, carefully choosing each colour, each texture for each of the rooms. Their bedroom would be all white with a pearl finish, for Sujata loved white. The common room would have metallic textured walls and for the kid’s room… well that would be special. He would get the ceiling painted black and get those moon and star stickers that glow at night. The walls would be painted green and yellow with cartoon characters. His younger one loved noddy and mickey, he vividly remembered how she had narrated one of the hilarious noddy stories to him, on their trip to India, last Christmas. Having decided the colour of the walls, he chose matching drapes and curtains, bed sheets and covers. He decided on bunker beds for the kids, but what if one of them rolls over and falls at night? No… he would go for the individual low-height beds and then fancy study tables and book racks for each one. Finally, after 2 sleepless nights, the home was ready. He went around each room and admired it with the eye of a critic, the eye of a loving husband, the eye of a tender father, the eye of a family man… and everything looked perfect. He smiled the smile of perfection, the smile of satisfaction.

That evening as he had his dinner alone at the dining table, he told himself, not anymore. This would be his last meal alone. The next dinner he would have with his family and the thought gave him immense happiness. He finished his meager dinner, appetite being eaten away by excitement, he went off to sleep. At midnight, the phone rang and he was surprised to hear his wife, wasn’t it the time to board the flight? His mind was whirling and it was difficult for him to remain standing at one place, as he heard his wife break the news. He slowly started pacing up and down the entire house. Today, when she had gone to bid good-bye to her boss, her boss had come-up with a surprise offer. He offered her the complete responsibility of their company’s upcoming Australian operations. With double her current salary, all relocation expenses being taken care off, and a huge responsibility, the offer was something she couldn’t refuse. And the kids would also have the best of opportunities in Australia. After giving it much thought, she had decided to take it up and she would have to fly down to Australia next week, which meant not only her relocation to India stood cancelled, but that they would not even make the trip to visit him.

He did not utter a word all through the conversation. He was pacing up and down the house at a furious speed. He was angry, furious at his wife for having taken such a decision without consulting him and at her obstinacy to actually announce it to him. He was furious at her boss to have made that offer. But he did not want the anger to show in his voice, lest her wife would mistake it for his insecurity. He was sad, sad beyond the point where tears could give him any comfort. Sad that all his hopes were shattered, that he would not see his family soon, he would not be able to play with his children, his children would probably not even know what it was to live with a father. But he could not let his sorrow show in his voice, lest his wife would think him insensitive and selfish, not happy for her at her big success. But beyond all this, he was hurt. Hurt to sense the indifference in his wife’s voice and attitude, hurt with her casual approach, hurt with the distances that had grown not only between their daily existence, but between their hearts too. Hurt because his marriage was collapsing, his family was disintegrating, the distances between them was widening each day into a void, the depth of which, even he did not dare assess. Hurt, because he was a bachelor again, fumbling with the keys to open the door to his apartment each day, cooking and eating his meal alone in solitude each night. Hurt because the accursed silence would again buzz into his ears… but he dared not share it with his wife. For she would perhaps not understand if he said it, she perhaps did not even understand what he did not say…

He sunk on the little bed that he had got for his younger one and laid there still, staring at the ceiling. The stars glowed in the dark, like in a clear starry night sky. But there was another twinkle in the room, perhaps that of the lone tear drop that glistened with the light of the stars.

Note: Sorry! It got too long... and I don't know what to edit. :-( Please bear with it. :-)

The Power of Eloquence

He that undermines the power of Eloquence,
What do we call him, a coke without effervescence?
Flat and base as it might seem to be,
Yet isn’t that a proper analogy?

One might say, But what is a Bubble?
A mere drop of water escaping from trouble.
But lo! Do you dare forget Mr. Shakespeare?
We are all mere bubbles on this sphere.

Eloquence is like that bubble which when
Introduced to the Wine forms the Champagne.
The Wine undoubtedly is the real cause,
But doesn’t the Champagne add a gloss?

A propounder of Eloquence will tell you its need,
The Power of Eloquence to propel a deed.
A Deed in itself is a mere act,
Until the masses acknowledge the fact.

Such is the Power of Eloquence today,
That to succeed it is the only way.
Name, Fame, Glory and all,
Eloquence brings all in all.

Note: Written long long back... one of my first few poems.
Written in admiration for a certain man who was so good in talking... that you could listen to him for hours together in all genuineness and enjoy it. The man had other qualities too, but this was his most striking one, his way of expression. :-)

Why am I posting this today? Because I have nothing else to say... ;-)

Update...

Ok so here I am with an update on my 8 day long Delhi trip. I had already told you what I was looking forward to in the trip and what happened was very much in line with it. Work went well, met some old friends, missed some others and met some new friends. Enjoyed a lot and I finally did see The India Gate. :-) And yeah I did a lot of shopping for myself and for everyone at home. But besides all that what made this trip significant is a feeling.

I got this feeling today… that I am very lucky. I am lucky because I am loved. I always took everything in a stride in life, even the feeling that I was never important enough to make a difference to someone’s life. My existence I always thought was (ummmm how do I put it?) Superfluous? I lived because I did not know what else to do with life… My family always loved me, but I never felt indispensable. I mean that feeling of being wanted… being missed in your absence.

This trip made me feel all that from the people I love the most. My sister missed me in the office, at home….. missed the chatter and fights we used to have… missed the bike rides everyday to and fro in the mornings and evenings, though I have almost broken her leg once and she keeps complaining about my rash driving. She missed me on her walks… at the dinner table… our fights over the bed that we share. My Aunt missed me… she didn’t take her medicines for three nights in my absence. The day I came back and I massaged her legs, like I do every night, she told me how much she missed it that week. My Bhabhi missed my creative ideas on my niece’s birthday. Every year we used to throw a party on her birthday with a unique theme… everything right from the party invitation card to the menu, theme and games used to be unique… all done by us. This year they missed me while making the arrangements. When I entered home after a week, my niece hugged me and told me how much she loved me. I feel loved… I feel important… I feel wanted. :-)

Abhi ke liye bas itna hi… Khuda hafiz :-)

Oh! its nothing... bas yunhi... :-)

I usually don't talk straight of what I feel, what I think. I hide behind the characters of my stories and poems, and pour out my emotions as words pour out of their mouth. But today is different. I feel elated... I feel happy... on top of the world. I got an appreciation from a client, work seems to be going good... I am traveling to Delhi tomorrow for a week. Visiting the capital city after 10 years... I have been visiting Mumbai and Chennai on and off on client events... but somehow none of the client work took me to Delhi... strange it is...

I may visit my childhood friends there who are lost in the corporate world like me. Probably we will share some moments of fun... think about those days when we used hop around the class, in school canteens, on trips... talk about those grades... "mere itne marks hain aur tere?" kind of conversations... teacher's cane strokes, one on each handlike prasad of some goddess... everything...

They would have changed in all these years... and I am changed too... I don't know how we would react to each other... will we even recognize each other? Its been 10 yrs... 10 long years. I am excited... Will tell you all about my trip after I come back... it might take a week or 10 days. Till then be well and have fun. :-)

Cheers!
Meenakshi

United by Life

The colour changed once again, ascertaining a fact, she found almost impossible to believe… or perhaps she was living the moment like a dream? It was not before the tears started streaming down her eyes, that she realized it was, but true. The tears trickling down her cheeks and neck tickled her and made her shiver… or was it the thought, the anticipation, which had that effect? She couldn’t say. She did not know how to react... She just sank down on the floor of the bathroom, weeping and smiling at once… tears of joy, tears of fear, tears of anticipation, tears of tenderness… and an all pervading smile. Then as if waking up from a deep slumber, she gathered herself and walked to the mirror. Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she smiled… now a smile of pure joy, of heavenly bliss. She could see a strange glow on her face, was it the beaming joy, or the radiance of another life within her… she mused to herself. Her eyes softened further… the brown pupils becoming lighter and then all became hazy like drawing a transparent curtain.

That evening she waited eagerly for the sound of her husband’s car, for the screeching of the elevator as it came to a halt on their floor, for his footsteps, for the unique sound that the door-bell produced only at his touch… the touch of its master. It was 8.00 p.m. and she was expecting him anytime now. She tried to imagine how she would break the news to him… how she would word it… Standing in front of the mirror, she tried different lines, different expressions… rehearsed them several times. But everything sounded so clichéd that she laughed out aloud at the very thought of saying it, ultimately leaving it to impulse. Probably it would just come out when she actually faced him… perhaps he would just read it in her expressions and she would not even have to utter a word… perhaps he too would notice the glow on her face… She just wanted him to come home now…. Immediately. In the wink of an eye, she just wanted him to be standing next to her.

The clock struck 10.00 and she was getting impatient. Every minute passed like an hour as she sat watching the high-dose of melodrama in one of those daily soaps. Every few minutes, she would run upto the balcony and peep down looking for his car… but there was no trace of him. His cell phone like many other occasions was switched off, the battery would have died down as usual, she muttered. Close to 10.30, she finally heard his car pull-up the entrance drive-way. She rushed to the dressing table, to give a final touch-up. She had dressed-up for the occasion, clad in a pretty red saree with bandani print. She let her hair lose, just the way he liked it. And when the door–bell finally rang, she almost broke into a run, in her eagerness to open the door. He looked famished. It was a busy day with back-to-back meetings on the new project. Being almost year-end, he was putting in extra efforts to make sure it made that desired impact on his appraisal. Tired, hungry, sleepy, as he was, he just collapsed on the laz-y-boy, but not before complementing her on how ravishing she looked that evening. She hurried to serve his dinner. Dinner was a quite affair in front of the television, as had been the custom ever since the world-cup started. She cleared the plates and utensils and came back prepared to share with him the big news, only to realize that he was already snoring on the bed. She laid down by his side, a little disappointed. But she understood. It was a tiring day and the morrow would give her a still better opportunity. A new day for a new beginning… And thinking about the exciting promise that the sunrise held for them, she dozed off.

Dawn broke, beautiful as ever, with the chirping of the birds and sounds of hymns and bells at the nearby temple. He was still fast asleep and looked peacefully content in his slumber. She got up and wound the curtains to let some fresh sunlight enter the room. Then she walked up to his side of the bed and gently ruffled his hair and whispered his name. He just lazily tossed and slept over. She then sat beside his pillow and took his hands tenderly in her own and placed it over her tummy… gently stroking it, feeling the life within her womb through his touch… as if hearing the heart-beat of the new life breathing in her… as if feeling the rhythm of its breath. He turned over to look at her, a little surprised at her gesture… and what he saw then, at that moment was probably the sight he would never forget in his entire life. There she sat next to him, tears rolling down her cheeks, a gentle smile on her lips, and an expression that was indescribably tender… an expression he had never seen… an expression that made him forget the world and just want to pull her close to himself… so close that she could enter his soul… so close that she could be a part of him… so close that they could never be parted again. At that moment, he wanted their existence to merge… their breathing to be united, their heartbeats to melt into each other… and their souls reveling in this union. As they cuddled together, they felt of a strange bonding between them, a unison that was way beyond any intimacy that they had ever shared… as if united by a miraculous force of life, not to be parted until death and thereafter…

Creating Nirjhira- part 1

It was a bright starlit night.
The queen of the sky, in her crescent chariot, bedecked in the grandeur of white brilliance, presided over the revelry of the night. She smiled graciously at the performance of her ardent admirers, the prim and prop, well dressed, knights of the night, who well portrayed their skills at the art of chivalry, to amuse the queen.

While this act was brewing up in the heavens, on the surface of earth sat a solitary soul by his window… romancing with the cool breeze, wearing a smile indicative of his lost countenance… a silent spectator to the night’s frolics. The very image of a man, freshly struck by Cupid’s arrows… gazing at the moon, possibly summoning in his mind, lines from love sonnets of Sidney and Spenser… comparing his beloved with the moon. By his window he sat, lost in recollecting every moment of that evening when he had met her. And like all those romantic, passionate hearts that believe in “Love at first sight”, our dear young friend, lost his heart to this beautiful maiden at the party. Just like the hero of all classic love stories, every night, he stares at the moon, like it was a mirror reflecting his thoughts in images, and in that image, he sees his beloved’s face. Thus the queen of the sky once again became the patron of yet another pair of lovers.

Today, in an especially gracious disposition, she dismisses her court early and sits in solitude with the lover, both admiring in verbal abundance, the object of his passionate love. But our hero is still a rational lover… now does that sound like an oxymoron? Can love and rationale go together? Well I say so, because this gentleman, our hero, warrants moderation in praise for his lady. See what he tells the moon…

No… not so high…
Let her be firmly grounded,
for she fears to fly.

No… not so deep…
Let her be seen as shallow,
than plunge in fair conceit.

Oh! not even so fair…
She’s but the colour of dusk,
Dark nights form her hair.
Her eyes are not coral blue,
But a dark brown affair.

Her temperance?
How do I tell you what it be,
Sometimes, a dormant volcano,
Sometimes, a tempestuous sea.

If coquetry be a maid’s weapon,
She has brandished none,
And yet against her natural charms,
All men and deities summon.

If women feign innocence,
To win the hearts of men,
She feigns a fake cunning,
I know not to what gain?

Timidity, fragility and subservience
Are traits to her unknown.
She possesses a tender heart,
With a mind of her own.

She is not a noted beauty,
Nor has any craft conjured…
In her strength and vulnerability
I find my heart conquered.

Weird...

I met Life again today
around the corner of that lane.
Blinded by the wind storm,
in a mad rush I rode.
Now shaky, now steady;
Swinging, swaying, twisting, turning
with the slithering, curvy road,
and BANG!

I frowned, She stared,
I stared, She smiled…

…She smiled? I looked again…
She smiled. Confused, bewildered,
I looked away… She smiled?

A fugitive smile escaped my lips too.
I quickly turned and hurried away.

Note: No this was not a poem, not a prose or the narration of any real incident. It is just a feeling... You know when you just type each word on the keyboard, as you pronounce it in your mind... without thinking if it makes any sense. This is just one of those raw, unstructured, random thoughts.

We tend to wage a war with life... Always fight, crib, sulk, defy, rebel. Life for sure has hardships, but there are rewards too. And amidst all the hardships, suddenly one day when life smiles at us, we do not know how to react. It happened to me, it may happen to anyone of us... you may just meet life around the corner of the lane. And when she smiles at you, remember to smile back. Life will suddenly seem beautiful. :-)

Love,
Meenakshi

Dying Love... (edited)

In my soft, glistening eyes,
a desperate longing for you cries.
Tender lips quivering to kiss
the dream of an eternal bliss.

I feel your breath,
somehow distant and cold.
I touch your heart,
hoping to touch your soul.

My heart freezes
as moments melt…
I don’t feel the love,
I once felt.

[ M E ]

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Thanks Vibhanshu for the link :-)

Blossom

Quiver,
shiver, shy and shudder,
peek and yet recoil...

Breeze
blows, bend and bow,
gently sway and smile...

Dewdrops
twinkle, trail and trickle,
a shimmer divine and solemn...

Now
bold, fold and unfold,
the bright blue blossom.

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Hi,

I had decided to stay away from Orkut, Ryze, Blog and chats for a month atleast. And its been two weeks... and I cant take it any longer. In the interim, I have not been sincere in my resolve. I sneaked into my blog and typed this little poem, but didnt publish it. I visited all your blogs too... just that I didnt comment. :-) I logged on to Orkut and read all messages. I chatted with friends a couple of times in the last 2 weeks, though most of the times I remained logged out. The temptation was too much and I did my best to resist it. And then I realized, the time I was spending on resisting the temptation, I could as well give in and spend much lesser time.

So I am back... and I am sorry... that last post was so dramatic as if I was quitting blogging for ever... and I am ashamed it turned out to be such a small duration. And I did not learn anything great in the meantime. But yes, I did watch a play at Rangashankara after ages... I initiated the Manuscripts blog that I was planning for a long time... and guess what? I met my first prospective initiator for the practical side of Manuscripts. so now it will begin soon. :-)

hmmmm and about the significance of these last too weeks on my internal atmosphere... well I cant say I have grown any wiser, but I realized or should I say... I "accepted" some of the reasons behind those conflicts that I had. No major conclusion reached, but a few observations, afew postulates made, which might be a step further towards the goal... I will talk about it in detail sometime.

So thats about it... Hope you all had a nice time.

Cheers!
Meenakshi

Auto-reply

Dear reader,

I am going on a vacation. A vacation to some far away land that I am yet to find. I am preparing to set out on a long voyage and I dont know when I would be ashore. But I know I will come back... and come back fresh and re-energized. I hope I will learn a lot on this voyage. I will be a bit wiser, a bit more practical, a bit more real when I come back. It is something like a treasure hunt I am setting on, hoping to find the riches of beauty and happiness.

This small island has been like a home turf for me and I will miss it. Its like a choking feeling... I feel bad on severing myself from these beloved grounds, even for a small duration. But it is a necessary seperation. I dont know what triggered this long-pending need, but I knew it was in-store for sometime now.

I will miss all you lovely people who have been here with me and I am afraid when I come back, I will find all of you lost in your own worlds, having forgotten me. You know how when you leave a place, your idea of the place stagnates, and when you come back to find it changed, you cannot accept the change, because you were not part of that change when it happened. You yourself might have changed in the interim, but not having witnessed or experienced the change in the place, you tend to resist it.

I dont know why I am going and in search of what... but I hope I find what I seek. And I know all your best wishes would be with me. Thank You for everything and please wait for me. I will come back :-)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This sounds so dramatic... ;-)

Oh its nothing. I will be away for sometime, I dont know how long. There are just a few other things I need to look into... some serious decisions. While this poor blog did nothing to stop me from pursuing those other things, I still feel like saying a dramatic bye before I go... hence, I subjected you to the above torture.

You all have fun and keep writing and enjoy life. I will come back and read all your posts {and give my expert comments ;-)} Till then take care and "Hooooold Tiiime" {I am saying it like Shaan used to in that TV serial Saregama} :-)

Ok enough now... take care

Cheers!
Minakshi...... no... Meenakshi :-)

The Cardamom of Love - Happy Valentines Day

Its Valentines Day and this story here looks too sad on the joyous occasion. So here let me add a light note on the brighter side of love... Let it act as a prologue to this story... though with a clear disconnect :-)

Iqraar-e-ishq bayaan karne ke liye nazrana,
Yun toh bazaar mein bahut bikta hai...
Bheja aaiyne mein kaidkar dil apna,
Jo unki har ek jhalak par dhadakta hai...

Ishq ka paakar yeh nazrana ajeeb,
Mehboob mera khat mein likhta hai...
"Aaiyne ka hum kya karen sahib,
Kisiki aankhon hi mein apna aks dikhta hai".

hmmm okay... and now for the original story...

The Cardamom of Love

She set out on her daily expedition. A walk, that was a routine affair with no particular destination. A practice of more than a decade and yet was not mundane in its regularity. A ritual that still held a meaning and was not devoid of reason. An activity that still had a certain pleasure in its repetition. She enjoyed her solitary walks in the bright, chirpy mornings and in the dark, starlit nights. A walk that helped her transcend into a peaceful, blissful trance, that was sanjivni to her battered restless soul and prepared it for yet another day filled with anxiety, for the boredom, for success, for rejection, for the happy delightful squeals, for the depressing mood swings and prepared her even for a practiced indifference. The few moments of solitude that helped her connect with herself, the self that was represented by something lying deep within her. This was the only real conversation that she had, the conversation with solitude.

That night was no different, identical to its several predecessors… There was nothing in its origin to mark it as unique. Yet, if there is something called destiny, it would have seen the uniqueness in the evenness of the night. The secret intent of the night, hidden beneath the black sheet of the dead sky. For destiny knows everything… and knew that it was not the ordinary nights of nothingness… it was a night that would evoke some ripples, a night that would awaken several dormant energies, that would set into motion certain powers that have it in them to move the stagnant mountains or stagnate the flowing rivers, powers that have it in them to affect the deity and the demon equally, powers that are capable of building and destroying civilizations…

She walked the usual road taking the usual turn at the end of the road, lost in conversation with her inner-self, when suddenly she froze. She felt like her solitude was invaded by a presence, a presence that was not evident yet definitely remained masked in the darkness. A presence that was disturbing, unnerving, because it unleashed those fears she had never known… the fear of the unknown. And then something emerged out of the darkness. It was a shadow that she could see falling on her own shadow on the street. For a moment the two shadows merged, united and could be seen as one. And this heaviness of another shadow on her own, somehow exasperated her and she broke into a run. Did not stop or halt to confirm her fears, to stamp the feeling with reality, to even see if the shadow followed. She just ran as fast as she could, as never before. She just wanted to escape from that shadow for no reason. No… the shadow was not evil, did not threaten her, did nothing to her. She was not even sure if it existed, if there was a substance, a voice, some matter attached to the shadow. She just wanted to go away to her safe den. And even after reaching her den, the safe abode of her bodily existence, she was anxious. She did not sleep that night... kept thinking about the sudden emergence of the shadow from nowhere, about the intentions of the shadow and about her own surprising response to it, till the few saffron rays and the chirping of the birds, announced the dawn.

For the first time in the many years, something happened. A stimulus strong enough to upset, to jumble up the unquestioned, fixed patterns of the life that she was leading. The bright dawn transformed into a scorching noon and she remained tied up to her bed, thinking about the night before. Then past noon somehow pushed herself towards normalcy. And in the same attempt of restoring normalcy, she coxed herself to go for her walk that night. But she was cautious. There was a fear deep within her that made her start at the rustling of the leaves, at the ticking of the lizard, at the sound of a siren in a close-by factory. Slowly, she walked and reached the same turn where she had met the shadow last night. And the feeling of someone following returned. She felt the same heaviness of a shadow on her own, the same presence. But today she did not freeze. She did not even turn back or run ahead. She kept her normal pace and the shadow walked with her in her solitude, without uttering a word. They walked together like strangers that day and for the next few days to come. The company of the shadow began to seem normal to her. She learnt not to fear it, and to get used to it… in-fact she slowly even learnt to like it, to look forward to that turn where it joined her. And yet she did not want to turn back and look at the substance behind the shadow… she was scared of some revelation, she was scared of something unknown, she was scared of breaking the trance, and most of all, she was scared of losing the shadow in anticipation of some substance which may or may not exist.

Days passed by and she became attached to the shadow. It became a part of her life. The silence between them was long since broken and a comfort of sharing words, sharing her thoughts, dreams, fears, happiness took over. The shadow was now an extended part of herself, no more a heaviness she despised, but the weight that comforted her. She let the shadow through the smallest crevices of her dark past, through the bright sunshines of her life… through everything that was ever hers or ever would be a part of her. The shadow was her companion for life, the soulmate she was unconsciously seeking for, the love of her life. Yet she feared this fact being ascertained, feared that the surety would be something like a writing on the stone, that would somehow turn her life dead like a stone. The certainty would somehow destroy the beauty of this trance and so she never sought to look back and ascertain.

Life was now beautiful. She lived the beauty of the orange sky at dawn, she sang with the birds the song of mirth, she reflected the shine of the crystalline dew drops, she flourished in the green of the leaves, she drenched in the life-like showers of rain, she filled her soul with the smell of the wet earth and all this she did holding the hands of the shadow, the love of her life and held it till dusk and it was time to go back to her abode and wish for another beautiful dawn to break so she could revel in the company of her newly found love.

One fine evening as she was on her way, she suddenly felt an urge to see her companion. To stamp the romance with the seal of reality. And enthused with the surety of her own thoughts and believing in her instincts, she closed her eyes and turned back, hoping that as she would slowly open her eyes, she would fill her vision with the image of the man she knew so well. Whose shadow she could identify in a crowd, whose voice she could trace in chaos, whose breath was mingled in her own. And preparing herself for the immense happiness she was about to receive, to find herself completed, she slowly opened her dreamy eyes. But, her vision froze as she saw the shadow moving away from her. The fear of parting returned like a loud scream in her mind and she held out her outstretched arm wishing the shadow would grasp it. But the shadow was drifting, as if pulled away by some unseen force, pulled away from her forever. She called out to him. But there was no response… only the length of the shadow kept diminishing till it was only a speck on the horizon and without a sound, just vanished, dissolved in that meeting point of the land and the sky.

She remained standing there for a while… alone, a solitary figure at dusk. A lonely shadow suspended at the centre of the earth and around her everything revolved in circular motion. Then she started walking homewards. She walked the twists and turns of the road, lost in nothingness, seeing yet not seeing, hearing yet not listening, feeling yet numb, thoughts that never registered in her consciousness. She walked with her eyes fixed on some distant horizon, a horizon that was a myth, just as insubstantial as her existence seemed at that point of time.

Love deserted her, left her in the middle of a journey to an unknown destination, in the middle of nowhere… Now again she was with her solitude. But the solitude now was not peaceful. There was a yearning, a restlessness, a quest attached to the solitude. She was now estranged from her inner-self, estranged with the pleasant conversations she had with that inner self… and what remained now was only the reminiscence of a few broken sounds, a few incomplete sentences and a few suspended emotions. Love touched her life and left an impression that would last for sometime. Like the seeds of a cardamom after dissolving in the mouth, leave behind a lingering scent, a flavour, an essence. Thus was her life flavoured by the cardamom of love.

Note: Dear reader, this was a slightly longish post... Hope it did not render you impatient. :-)

Love touches all our lives at some point of time and we all react differently to it. Initially we are afraid of love, afraid of the change, of accepting it and then after accepting it, there is a constant fear of losing it.

Sometimes love attains its end in the form of companionship for life... while at other times, love just touches your life briefly and then vanishes. Yet even after it ceases to exist, it leaves behind a sweetness that reminds me of the flavour of cardamom that lingers in your breath for some time... just like love lingers in your life... :-)

"I"?

What does this "I" signify?
The Brain, the Heart or the Soul?
And if all these are parts,
Then what is the whole?

"I"?

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For me this is the biggest riddle of life. I set out looking for the "I", to understand the meaning of "I"... and ultimately reached the same "I", completing a circle, for realization dawned that the begining was the end, the question was the answer. Sometimes I question the answer and at others I answer the question, going round and round on this orbit of life.

The dotted purple hue...

The clinking of her anklets, the pitter-patter of her tiny little feet and the rolling incessant gush of laughter filled the air, as the little child played peek-a-boo with her newly found friend. A neighbourhood lad, who had known the evils of school and assignments, of tears and fears, of pride and envy, of victory and failure, of attraction and repulsion, of right and wrong, known enough to revel in the innocence of the child. The little child, Manjhi, hardly two months past her second year in this world, saw the world from behind those black, rusty railings of the balcony. Sometimes, licking the iron, sometimes the wall, swinging at the railing, she would call out to the passers by, and then suddenly shy, she would duck to hide.

The Sun was hurrying across the sky and in his great hurry, had forgotten some of his rays behind, who were now stumbling all over the sky to find their way back home. The stumbling rays, left a trail of bright orange on the inky sky that slowly dulled and lightened to dissolve in the engulfing deep darkness. Little Manjhi and the lad, unaware of the happenings of the world beyond that small balcony, were busy in their play, which had now graded-up to “Hide and seek” from “Peek-a-boo”. The little child, in her innocence, had found a great hiding. Covering her eyes with her spread-out fingers, she hoped the lad would not see her… as we often do in our grown-up worlds, closing our own eyes, pretend that others cannot see through us.

Every few minutes, the child would look around to spot her mother, who had now moved to the kitchen to finish her evening chores. She ran to the kitchen and hugged her mother from behind, swinging, with her arms around her neck, placing her own cold cheeks on her mother’s soft, fluid cheeks that were always warm with the heat of the kerosene stove… a warmth that comforted her, that protected her, that shielded her from the cold of the exterior world, like the warmth of the womb. She felt secure and overjoyed at that very touch and as her mother kissed her cheeks and ran her fingers through her curly hair fondly, the joy reached a stage of exaltation that expressed itself in a dance of celebration. Holding an end of her mother’s saree, and pulling it over her own head, she danced round and round, as a peacock that spots a cloud, or a cuckoo in spring that sings aloud. It was her favourite saree, her mother was wearing, a dark purple synthetic smooth, with big dots of a colour, how do you call it?... light earthy?

And then suddenly reminded of her friend, she ran out, hopping and skipping all the way… resorting to her mean coquetry to soothe her upset friend. She screwed her lips, and knitted her brows to show her feigned displeasure, and the honest lad fell into her trap and cheered to cheer her again. Just then as they resumed their game, the sun it seemed came back, an orange hue seemed like it grew in their close vicinity. Yet it was not the orange of before, somehow dark and deep, it had a suppressed fury that seemed to seep deep. A strange heat engulfed the air that made them breathless and the dark inky sky seemed now to grow jet black. The twosome trying to ignore this change, continued their game, yet a kind of unpleasantness definitely overcame.

The suppressed fury of the orange light exploded into a deep red, no… yellow, also a blue mixed red and orange… whatever the colour, but with a sooty black trail… The flames now quite high, engulfed the entire house and in vain did the neighbours run to put it out with buckets of water. There was chaos, commotion, screams, wails, orders being given and above all a hum of the fire that enjoyed all this attention bestowed upon it. The entire neighbourhood blackened, all colours merged, dissolved into that darkness… and so did the dotted purple smooth synthetic, that melted, yet stuck around her mother faithfully.

A heavy silence followed, a silence that seemed to scream louder… All the darkness and colours turned white, as if erased thoroughly with not a trace left. The frightening whiteness of cleanliness, an irking smell of purity, men and women dressed in white, white beds, white sheets, like white shrouds… and amidst all this the one red light that seemed to catch everyone’s attention. As time passed, the bright red turned dull and everyone in a mass moved towards another room fitted with a tv that had gone blank and tubes like hose pipes fitted all around, where laid the lady clad now in white. Manjhi did not recognize her, she clung on to her father’s finger… The man in the white coat came and gently ruffled Manjhi’s hair and asked her, “beta bade hokar kya banogi?” and she promptly replied “wohi jo aap hain…” For whenever she wore her father’s white shirt and hopped around the entire house with a toy stethoscope, her mother would fondly lift her and say “Ek din meri beti bhi Doctor banegi” and while she said this, her voice would turn husky with pride and a strange silky satin smoothness would mix in her voice, that enchanted Manjhi. This time she waited for that velvety voice to spring from somewhere, from nowhere… and waited till she fell asleep…

Suddenly, there was a loud screeching ring of the telephone and the young lady sat up in her bed as if jerked to consciousness. Was it a dream, or shadows of some deep buried past, that has been rising from the underworld, ever since her childhood, for the last twenty years, finding expression in her dreams every night… she wondered… She did not know any figure in that dream, did not recognize any trace of anyone that belonged to her life. Yet there was a faint memory of a dotted purple hue… But she never asked her Grandparents about any such thing, for it would cloud their already cloudy eyes, knit their already wrinkled brows. Everytime she ventured to ask any questions relating to the past, her lips somehow got sealed in a way, as if it was painful for them to part. And then too pained to utter a word, she would fall quiet. Thus she lived with sealed lips, amidst a myriad of questions, unanswered, incomplete, staring at her… Was it a dream or shadows of some deep buried past? She still wondered…

Waiting for Godot...

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow
I just come and go
Swinging like a pendulum
In an orbit to and fro…

Waiting for the motion to slow
Or perhaps another blow
Waiting for something to know
Of yet another Godot…

In the interim I walk
Wanderingly, I flock
Pursuing a blind and muted talk
And all the while, a Godot to stalk.

It stings, yet no pain…
It clouds, yet no rain…
There is hope, but no gain
There is Me, but insane.

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow
I just come and go
Swinging like a pendulum
In an orbit to and fro…

Waiting for the motion to slow
Or perhaps another blow
Waiting for something to know
Of yet another Godot…

I ask my self, “shall I go?”
My self tells me “lets go”.
Yet I stand with knitted brow,
Waiting for Godot…

Note: Inspired from Samuel Becket’s “Waiting for Godot” (pronounced as "godo").
My “Godot” is my purpose for life. That one aim which gives you the reason to live. And without that purpose, life is just like this poem, a meaningless rhyme, repetitive and tiring.

I have every element to make a good life. I enjoy the big and small pleasures and challenges of life, but without that one purpose, everything seems mechanical and unworthy. Without that one aim, you just “exist”, you don’t “live”. It is just like the concept of existential angst that great philosophers talk about, but in a microcosm that is “me”. Every morning gives me a hope to bring my Godot and every evening brings a message that he will come tomorrow and that tomorrow never comes… and here I am waiting for my Godot…

The dynamics of distance

Two souls united at distance
Shared all their dreams…
Now at a yard’s existence
Silence quietly screams…
-----------------

She so yearned for intimacy
While meeting face to face…
There crept a feeling of inadequacy
And instead she spelt SPACE…
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To dab the tears of passers by,
Armed with compassion I flee…
Yet the pain in your eyes
I could never see…
-----------------

Everywhere the lamp goes
Its light faithfully trails…
Yet underneath itself
Darkness prevails…
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G A P S

Gaps in conversation
Drift and become gaps in relations
Leaving a gap in thought and comprehension.
As I gape at the gap in life itself,
I see the need to fill it… I talk.

Note: Wish we could talk more and more openly, then generation gaps or gaps as long as a generation wouldn't exist in our relationships.