Echo from those brief summer days !!

The days were warm
Evenings bright
As you would come visit me
Delightful were those nights.

A whiff of curiosity
enveloped us both
when one would listen to the other
and let dreams float.

Then, the day approached
when you had to leave
We knew it already.
It wasn't that hard to believe.

As we let each other
take some space
in our own worlds,
This, we had to face.

As a souvenir
we both chose
to gift each other
the book we loved most.

As I open that book today
and see your name
I know the secret of life it shields
as you had claimed.

I am yet to read
the treasure you gave
something I will cherish
till the end that I will save.

I have walked alone till so far

dare I say they find it bizarre.

I tread the path with spirits high

my own rules and norms I abide by.

Now, you wait for me to cross the threshold

It appears as a stranglehold.

For you, the waves gently wash our feet,

To me, they drown and so I retreat.

This strangeness might hit you pretty soon

when you realize I lay too content in my cocoon.

 

Sing that song!

In the summery nights
after we would fight
you would take my hand
almost unplanned
and utter the first word
bitterness would thus get blurred,
a trail of words would follow
all anger would seem hollow,

words weaved in a song
and I would sing along.

Sing that song
when we walked along.

You refuse to leave...

You have taken a remote corner of my heart

Immovable and adamant 

you refuse to leave.

I rejoice, recall the memories past

And each time breathe fresh air to you.

You refuse to leave?

Or shall I say

I deny you a way out.

The Distant Echo

of Trojan Odyssey

reminds of Leaving Eden

when Blood is the Sky

Till some days ago, I had been consumed by the idea of writing. Some of my thoughts got weaved in words, some were posted on my blog, some sheltered in the crisp pages of my diary and some unfortunate ones could not get translated into right words and hence drowned in the sea of thoughts in my head.

A few days later, I was again consumed. But this time, it was by the idea of reading. I had been reading here and there at my own leisurely pace. To this, I added some enthusiasm and decided to read at a better speed. I lay my hands on the Reader’s Digest’s special edition of abridged versions of four books compiled in one. While I was going through the collection, I realized I had read at least one of the stories from each of the books. But there lay one book that seemed untouched completely. I picked it up and another one of which I recollected having read the first story. This time I had made up my mind to read all the stories of the book. Collecting the two books, I started my journey, my journey with the stories and with the characters.

Well, the first book I finished reading all the stories. I started with the story of a teenage girl trying to understand life. The next one was about this Marine expert whose love for sea was unmatched for even at his age and his adventures of thwarting a hazardous plan that could put the whole world come to a standstill. While reading his story I came to admire him a lot. With his sharp reflex and intelligence, he appeared more like a formally trained Intelligence Officer than an underwater expert. But he was only too perfect for reality.

After having finished my underwater exploration, subsequently I found myself face to face with the journey of Vinnie, an Ojibwa Indian and Alex his white friend to trace Vinnie’s brother who never returned after setting forth on a hunting trip with four people in the Canadian wilderness. It turned out to be a story of revenge that took many lives including that of the four people and Tom, Vinnie’s brother. The only idea that I carry with myself from that journey is Vinnie’s idea where he says “It needs to stop somewhere.” Violence as an answer to violence spawns more violence.

So, I had finished reading one of the books. Next book found itself in my hands too quickly. I chose to begin with the first story. It is very unlikely of me to start with the first story ever. At school, I remember reading my text books at home where I would start with the last chapter, then search for the chapters in between and then end up reading the first one. The first chapter was the most unattractive to me back in school.

The first story’s title however was quite fascinating in this compilation. The Afghan appealed to me more than the rest of them. Thus I set upon this trail of Mike Martin, a retired British Officer, who disguises himself as the Afghan, taken by the American forces and put in Guantanamo Bay. After a period of training on the various aspects of the Afghan’s life, his childhood events, his language, Martin finally finds himself on the most important project of the Al Qaeda forces. The plot is unknown to the American and British. And Martin is the one who shoulders the responsibility of being the key to unearth it. The plot doesn’t get to its desired end by the schemers.

The end was not to my liking but it was real. How badly I wanted Martin to be alive. How I also wished the Afghan and Martin crossed their paths once again. The Afghan had been once saved by Martin and I would have liked to see when both stood opposite each other. How I also wanted the story to not end. Besides, I wished I had laid my hands on the original and not the abridged version.

Now the next story lays there. It looks at me, all set to offer itself for a read. I begin with the first page. I try reading but just can’t focus. Mike Martin and the Afghan have consumed me entirely that I have to take a break so that the rest of the journeys become as interesting as the previous ones. 

In the name of God !!!

When I was a young girl, I had been introduced to my religion by my parents. Born into a Hindu family, I came to identify Gods and Goddesses through various idols kept in the house. I might have been asked to learn a few shlokas (though I cannot recall when and how I happened to learn them) because that is how I still remember them and recite them whenever I pray inside a temple. I would recite them, hands together in a prayer position, without knowing what they meant. Today when I recite them, I sometimes pay attention to each word and try to understand what they mean. The overall meanings of the shlokas which I recite have become clearer than when I was a kid. Not a compulsion, however I recall going to the temple in our colony once in a week. But actually as I go back in time, I recollect it was like going to the temple whenever you wanted to.

As a young girl if I would get into some trouble I would talk to this invisible power that all of us call God to help me. And that was not necessarily in front of the idols or in the temples. I would just talk anywhere making him present in my world. If happiness would come my way and if I believed it was because of his divine intervention, I would again talk to him mindless of the place I would be in. During all such conversations, I would not visualize any idol in front of my eyes. It was rather acknowledging the presence of one God, the Invisible, omnipresent, all knowing, all pervasive. I Believe in God and I still talk to my God in tough and happier times.

I remember somewhere last month in the news channels the question of conversion began surfacing. It was some Hindu organizations whom I saw on TV performing some rituals and converting people to Hinduism. There have been and are cases of conversions in each and every religion. But watching that video, my mind could not come to believe that only by performing a ritual how can someone become a Hindu or a Muslim or of any religion. Perform a ritual and change one’s religion appears quite ludicrous to me. I cannot imagine myself being part of a ritual that would change my religion until and unless I would really be attracted by this other religion or its ideals. Well, there is a lot of politics that play around the question of conversion which I certainly do not wish to enter.

I look around and find many people who would go to gatherings of various gurus and listen to them very attentively. I once asked a lady who happens to be my cousin aunt, why do you need to go to any of such gatherings. Her answer would be the answers of many. She said the religious Guru talks of God and isn’t it a nice thing to be listening to? I found her answer to be uniquely comical. And it’s not with her but most of us. While people congregate to pray to the Lord, they will follow a guru who will enlighten them with all the Gyaan. But what is the use of this Gyaan when after leaving the congregation or after having chanted the name of Lord you start badmouthing others, you are jealous of all around you, you do not wish your colleague does better than you or you wish bad for others, do not help the needy, become all selfish. Is this what a religion tells you? Why not be a good human being first than chanting the Lord’s name in vain.

Another thing quite unfathomable to me is the need itself to follow a guru. Some argue that the guru guides you to the right path. To some extent I might concede but I do not know if I accept it fully. I believe it is your own individual journey. I do not wish to follow any religious guru and certainly not the ones who have created an empire and made religion a business. I feel if one really wants to be guided, why not take out some time, read your own scriptures, reflect, analyze, question and interpret it yourself. You may discuss it with others and see what opinions or views they have on it.

There are a lot of TV channels where you could find a guru giving all the good Gyaan. They talk sometimes about the description of Gods or their stories in the mythology. And otherwise it is a talk on being a good human being . When I listen to them, the question knocks again at my mind’s door, why do I need a guru who tells me the very obvious things in the world, the obvious things being to be nice, tolerant, patient, generous and so on. Why cannot those who go and listen to him intently just introspect or reflect and maybe find answers. After all it is your personal journey and you need to inculcate all the virtues in yourself. How can a guru make you patient and tolerant if you yourself do not wish to be?

And then there are people who kill in the name of religion. No religion teaches to kill people. For God’s sake let us make humanity our religion.

Here in India, people are quite touchy on religious issues. Some of these people have quite an overactive grey matter. Yesterday I saw a statement made by a saffron clad person. The statement was quite funny. The next instant, there was a Muslim making statements. Since past few months a lot has been revolving around religion. I seriously do not wish to be a part of a religion that creates chaos and disturbs people. Whatever is happening around religion these days makes me believe that in India, people should not be allowed to gather and give religious speeches. No religious congregations should be allowed. Why? Because some of these people create an environment that disturbs others by uttering just about anything only in the name of God. Giving unnecessary statements by these self proclaimed religious people would actually lead to a disillusionment of a section of society from the religion itself. Well, they do not even know what religion is. I have not read the Scriptures. But whatever scant reading I have done tells me one thing very clearly, that God is in every one of us. If God is in every one of us why not behave well with others?  I would rather get disenchanted with Religion if these men and women do not stop making preposterous statements.

I feel following a religion is completely a private affair. What I follow is my personal choice. Let me decide which path I wish to take. And I wish to be left on my own. I do not wish to be guided by any guru. I have a relationship with God, I have faith. I believe in some things and I wish it to be left like that. 

And let’s follow the true religion.  Let’s be humans first. 

I open my kitchen window

As the carrot and beet soup simmers on the stove

In the darkness of sky,

I lay on you my eyes.

It has been longer than I could imagine

You appear a tad brighter I have ever seen

No, your brightness remains the same

Only my eyes are to be blamed.

And then my mind does a pirouette

With a bizarre idea instead.

My eyes twinkle at the sight of soup,

Not the taste but its colour I choose.

What if I bring some mischief to the fore?

Splash the carroty beet’s colour to your core.

My mind then jumps to the wagon of spinachy green

Your smirk tells me, “Only in your dreams!”

Well, I like you with your silvery white,

Always adds to my dreamy delight.

Here, the soup seems ready to be served,

I close the window and leave you undisturbed.

First day of 2015

So we have entered the New Year 2015. I sincerely hope to make this year a fulfilling, beautiful and magical one.

The feeling of writing the first entry of the year is so overwhelming that my mind has completely gone haywire. I am searching for the right words to find their way in my blog. So much is brewing up inside, yet it seems a humongous effort to write. Let’s see what gets weaved here in the following space.

Well, to begin with, the first day of the year also happens to be my mom’s birthday. She has been so selfless and has always kept her children and her family first on her priority, I feel extremely fortunate to have her as my mother. I know every child feels this way for his/her mom. Yesterday, it was her birthday dinner cum New Year’s Eve party. Why was it yesterday and why not today? Because today she has some fast. It has nothing to do with being her birthday or the first day of the year. Every month she observes a fast on a certain day and that certain day happened to be today.

I was quite excited to be making dinner for my parents yesterday. Though the food wasn’t perfect, but I am sure they saw the soul in it. My Dad never knew I could be interested in cooking and that I could cook so many things. But I am sure this was an effort worthwhile. Preparing dinner for them is the least I could do. I am uttering the words again but I can’t stop thanking my stars to have given me such wonderful parents. Though sometimes I just do not think about their emotions and sentiments and do a few things that hurt them for sure. I sincerely wish in this year I try to be a tad more considerate towards them.

Well, it seems it has become some kind of thanksgiving on the first day. Let’s get back to my mom’s birthday. So, I had asked my sisters of what could be gifted to her. I had thought of buying it online and surprising her. So when I was discussing it with my sister, she told me she would be sending her a gift and I could order a bouquet and the cake ofcourse I would bake. The surprise gift ordered by my sister is still on its way and my mom stays unaware. She is the last person who would check my blog post so I can, without the fear of ruining her surprise, declare that there is a gift on its way. And, my sister also asked me to write a poem for my mom. It had been there in my mind too. But all this while, I would sit and write about everything else but that one poem for her. So this was when I was chatting with my sister. She asked me to write. And I got motivated. I wrote a poem then and there. And the biggest surprise for me was that I wrote in Hindi. I had wanted to write in Hindi for a long time. I finished writing the poem and at that very instant, I messaged my sister to go through it and give me her reviews. She got back to me in a while and said that apart from the first two lines that seemed incoherent, everything else seemed perfectly placed. The next moment she was telling me that I had become so “filmy” and “dramebaaz”. The next day I asked my eldest sister to review it. She also found problems with the first two lines and gave a positive response. And then she added that it was more of a shayari that I had done. She said I could try another one.

Two days passed I had only been thinking of how to write. That one foggy morning when I was still in bed my mom offered me bed tea. And it made me so pleased. Not because I love having bed tea (That was the first time I had bed tea) and I generally do not take tea and especially not the first thing in the morning but the whole idea of my mom bringing it for me made my mind work as fast as I could imagine. So that morning I wrote a poem in Hindi, got positive reviews from both my sisters and yesterday was the time when I would place it for my mom to see today morning.

She got up today and was surprised to see a greeting card from her grandson. She couldn’t understand how it reached her as there were no stamps or address that showed any sign of being delivered through post. The next thing was my poem. She really liked it. Even my Dad told me it was good. (So much appreciation on the very first day is a good start.)

The day went by calling and wishing near and dear ones to have a fruitful year. We had our neighbors who paid us a visit. In all this, I had been thinking of the bouquet that I had ordered. I hadn’t got any call from the delivery guy. It was around four that I received his call. My parents’ were busy playing Chinese Checkers. They just adore this game. I would not like it earlier as I would lose all the time but now with a few wins I feel attracted to the game. Well that was not what I wanted to tell. So the delivery guy calls ups. It is drizzling. It has been drizzling since morning. He asks directions to our house. It can be very tricky to reach our house if you miss on to the instructions. It is not that difficult to reach our place however, we have had experiences, or it would be more apt to say, previous delivery boys have had experiences of getting caught in the labyrinthine maze that leads to our house. So this guy proves to be no exception to the previous ones. He calls me a few times. I am standing at the gate patiently waiting for the flowers.  After a good fifteen minutes, the guy has successfully spotted our place. Though I had been patient, there had been also a sense of exasperation. I take the flowers which are covered in the newspaper and a polyethene bag to avoid getting damaged by the rain. My first remark is about the flowers that might have gotten wet and then I see this guy who is without a raincoat. His jacket is all soaked in water. I tell him the obvious that he also has borne the brunt of the drizzle to make myself appear a little less selfish. I genuinely thank him for the delivery and wish him a happy new year. He smiles and thanks me in return. I feel a little satisfied by his smile. After all he doesn’t really mind delivering flowers in this slight rain.

I certainly want to surprise mom with the flowers. But my parents are busy playing in the room. I keep the flowers on the central table thinking when they finish and come to the drawing room , flowers will make themselves noticed. And then this idea creeps inside my head to keep the flowers at the corner table. In between something very important shoots up and the three of us are busy discussing the cause of the trouble. It is only when one of the neighbours who came to wish us pointed out the bouquet that the secret was revealed. She thanks me for all the efforts I have put in. She might think there are no more birthday presents. Well, there is a surprise waiting and wanting to be revealed.