Friday, November 27, 2009

Holiday season..

Another holiday approaches, with its earnest need to rejuvenate everyone. To give people the time to bask in the beauty of nature; travel to yonder lands. What is it about travel that fascinates people? Is it the visual pleasure of seeing the unseen, or is it the personal satisfaction that Yes! I made this trip. It definitely cannot be the packing and unpacking, wonder if there is anybody in this world who loves to pack and unpack. For some, it could be the journey to the destination, with familiar people whose tastes and perceptions match at least to a certain extent. There is definitely something that fascinates about traveling to everyone who travels; otherwise the travel industry wouldn't be an industry. Oh I missed the planning part. Laying out what to do, when, where and accomplishing those milestones could also be one's trigger for travel. Most people prefer traveling to known destinations with unknown plans. Just take off and be what you want to be, do what you want to do, oblivious to all the knowns of the equation. Thrill!! Adventure!! Mysterious!! Travel definitely unfolds a rejuvenated mind bringing you back to where you left to pick up the burdens you let down momentarily.
Another holiday season approaches, lest there are no plans to unknown destinations, familiar faces now seek the wild on their own, probably common perceptions have fallen off the cliff on one of the earlier journeys. Wishing them well and hoping that their journey brings them joy is all that there is left to do. Loneliness is solitude's greatest blessing and curse. Sitting by the window, looking out at the gloomy sky, slowly snow begins to engulf the land in its white blanket.. And another holiday season passes by!

Friday, November 20, 2009


Because William Wordsworth said - Poetry is a spontaneous overflow of feelings; it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility. 

her arms are open 
an empty a vessel in the ocean 
without a drop of water 
the warmth she one felt 
is giving away to the dreadful cold 
the cold is hitting her inch by inch 
she longs like a baby 
longing for his mother's touch 
for the warmth that once engulfed her 
the hold that told her 
that everything was fine 
the world was as it should be 
she is protected forever 
from the harms of the wild 
no tear could touch her or harsh words 
she is at a loss of words, 
of feelings, of thought 
a numbness casts its evil shadow 
in its realm she stands still 
longing for the warmth that once engulfed her 
longing for the affection that once surrounded her 
she waits.. 
moments, days, weeks, months, years.. 
counting droplets of water in the wide seas 
is there an end, 
will the water ever drain out 
she waits for the warmth, 
the look that everything was okay 
she looks at the horizon, 
and sees no end 
life seeming to be an endless tunnel 
where she travels inch by inch, 
the cold wind hitting her 
in solitude, in pain, in silence, in tears 
and waits.. 
moments, days, weeks, months, years..

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Reflections of a mind..

The night sky opens up one by one 
The stars in her womb 
One by one she bares them all, her inner dark secrets 
As the hidden truths emerge from the abysmal land 
Insane people draw out shapes and give it names 
They call her the Orion, the hunter and all funny names 
They don’t see that its her secret 
That maybe fell out in error 
Shooting stars are another enigma 
Stars fall, like everything that rises falls 
Dumb people close their eyes and wish upon the star 
What relation between something that’s falling and a hope 
On happy days, she wears a blanket of clouds, 
Hides all her stars in her blanket, for her alone to savor 
Making the world beneath her gloom 
For their lack of understanding, 
Of mankind and her 
On sad days, she bares open, all her children 
Children gaze at the twinkling sky 
Sing rhymes, wish upon falling stars 
Again for their lack of understanding 
Of mankind and her 
I look upon the yonder skies 
I see stars and clouds, which cannot be true 
Confusion at its all time best 
Painting a reflection of my mind…


I feel more inclined towards the emotional side of me this morning. I try to think and relive the moments from yesterday that have brought me drove me to this side of my feelings. It began with my trip to ToysRUs yesterday afternoon. I was walking through the Dolls aisle to buy one for my niece. As soon as I spotted a Barbie doll, the decision was made. But there were so many Barbie dolls, which left me in my otherwise usual state of mind - confused! The bikini Barbie was too revealing for my six year old niece. The one with pink hair, might invite some wild ideas in her little head. Then there was one with some decent clothes, but hair was too short. The thrill of playing with a Barbie doll is changing her clothes and combing her hair. The Barbie with short hair, would kill the fun in half. Finally I decided on a singer Barbie, a microphone in one hand, a bag in the other and of course long hair and a comb. I also picked up two extra dresses for Barbie, priced at a few cents over two dollars. On my way back home, I traveled back eighteen years, when I was in the seventh grade. I narrated to myself, my rendevous with my first and only Barbie.
It was a weekend, and after persisting for long, my usually-not-so-social father took us to his friend's place. Uncle had one son and two daughters. While my parents chit chatted with uncle and aunty, my brother and I were left to play with the girls. The older girl asked her mother if she could play with her Barbie doll. The first time I heard the name. She brought out this most-beautiful-doll-I-have-ever-seen dressed in a plain white frock, with pink ribbons and white lace. She had the most beautiful hair tied up in another pice of pink ribbon. The doll had a coffee table set, with a pristine tea set and tiny cushions for the sofa and chairs. The sofa and chairs were in white and cushions were blue on one side and pink polka dots on the other. There was also a bathroom set, with a bathtub, hand shower, bubble bath and towel. Barbie also had a couple of dresses to change. My friend, she was my friend now, because she was sharing her Barbie with me, well, so my friend decided to give Barbie a bath. She slipped the Barbie in the bath tub, poured some water and whisked up some bubbles. Before Barbie could finish her bath and dry up, a call come from the adjacent room. It was my father, yeah you guessed it right, it was time to go home. With mixed emotions, and last look at Barbie in the bath tub, I bade goodbye to my friend.
I dont think I waited till I got home to raise my request for a Barbie. Way back then, a Barbie doll cost a hundred rupees. Way too much to spend on a doll. My mother could have bought a week's grocery with that much money. After consistent Pleases' and repeated asking, my parents agreed to buy me a Barbie. We walked up to the closest toy store on Double Road and went to the Dolls section. There she stood on the shelf, looking perfect in her white frock, with pink ribbons and white lace, waiting to be mine. She was called "My first Barbie". I had liked her so much, I didnt want to take a look at the other models. Now was the crucial point. I couldnt have the living room and the bath tub set. It would be too heavy on my parents pocket. I had to choose either of them. I chose the living room set and thought, may be they will buy me the bathroom set later. The change of clothes turned out to be very expensive, so I stitched up a few dresses for Barbie, with old clothes at home. Probably that's when I learnt to sew. As the rule in the book says, I grew up and forgot all about the bathroom set and eventually the Barbie doll.
When I got back home yesterday and showed the Barbie doll to my mother, it brought an instant smile on her face. I know, the image of my first Barbie in her white frock just flashed through her mind.
Later in the evening, I watched a romantic Bollywood movie. Such movies, push me easily to the emotional side. I get carried away with the subtle love potrayed and thoroughly enjoy the two hours of imagination that plays on the screen. Just when the actors were going to get married, my wailing son, forced me to shut off the idiot box and rock him to sleep. Alas, more emotions in store this evening.
This morning, my son came and stood beside me and said 'Mom, I love you'. I asked him 'do you need a hug?'. He nodded. I held him for a long time. He asked me to close my eyes, and kissed me on my forehead. Wrapping my arms around my kids and feeling the tightness of their hug, leaves my emotions skyrocketing.
Last but not the least, the hug and kiss I gave my husband's mother this morning, brought a lump to my throat. At seventy she is making a trip alone back to India today to be with her grand daughter. After a few weeks she is going to make another twnety hour journey on a flight to be with her grandsons. I hope I can stand up and walk, if I ever live to match her age.
All the emotions flooding my brain, forced me to make these keystrokes. Oops! A microsoft outlook reminder window just popped up. Time to put down my emotions cap and wear my other go-back-to-work one!!

The birth of a story..

A story is an imagination. The author first imagines a few characters, their circumstances, situations, surroundings. Then he paints a picture of the characters surroundings. He establishes relationships between these characters. But the gist of the imagination is one essential question - what if "THIS" happened in these character's life's? Then what would happen next and next and so on. A chain of events is built, and the story starts developing. After a certain period of time, the author thinks, well thats enough. Either he's too tired, or genuinely thinks its time to end the story. He builds the climax in his mind. After jotting down the last few words, he puts a full stop. There ends the story. There ends the imagination, until he is inspired again to imagine.
Many a times we think, if our life could follow the path of a story. An imagination. But wishes are wishes. Life has its own plan. The only invisible thing on earth - the plan of life. Everything else doesnt exist. You never know where the turns are, stop signs are, which way, nothing. A journey to an unknown destination, via an unknown path, is life, very real, very known.
Thought provokers have said, enjoy what you have, glad with what you have, find happiness in them. But what if you cannot? What if you yearn for the imaginary things? Thats when you become an author or lose out on the opportunity called 'life'.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

And she waits..

She sits on this dark night
The freckles on her forehead getting deeper and deeper
Her eyes sleepy but open
Afraid that if she closes them,
She will lose sight forever
Silence marks its presence all around
The buzz of insects is also absent
The night casts its spell on her sleep
The darkness casts a spell on life
Everything is still and will not move
Until they feel the touch of her hands
Will they move, when she is gone
Will everything be the same, when she is gone
But where is she going, there are no ways
Only doors and doors all around, all of them closed
They dont open, she dont have the keys,
Nobody around to open it
The silence is deafening
Voices from the past speak to her
She sees the images, but only silence reaches her
And she waits.. and waits.. and waits..