Random thoughts

There is a an urge to write something.. anything, that would display my state of mind. But how would one write down a confused state of mind, where everything is so unsure. The book I just put down was inspiring enough - The Lucky One another one of Nicholas Sparks. It was good, but it wasn't the kind of romance that suits me or leaves me with a fell-good-feeling when I close the book. Nights in Rodanthe by the same author didn't deprive me of the feeling.

Why is it that people write? Because they are good at writing or they got good grades in the English courses during their academic years? No, its much deeper than that, its the need to vent out once feelings, emotions and everything beyond. I figure that authors are imaginative people. This maybe a commonly known fact. But imagination leads to writing, there is no doubt. You imagine yourself in a situation and further imagine your actions and the actions of people around you.

I just finished writing my fourth short story - Illusions of a dream. When I put the last full stop, I felt like all the words had been flushed out of my mind. I felt completely deviod of words, ideas, thoughts, imagination. But still there is an urge to write. Wonder when, wonder what... The main character of my next story will be Rishabh Acharya.

The movie I watched two days ago, has ushered in a new wave of energy - 3 idiots. The song "Saari umr hum mar mar ke jee liye, ek pal tho ab humen jeene do. Give me some sunshine, give me some rain, give me another chance, I wanna grow up once again", is so much like my poem "Yesterday or tomorrow". Just celebrated Christmas with friends and family. Everyone exchanged gifts, wish we could do it all over again.

Again, there is an urge to write something, this time it about a person who has said very little, and I would like to grow up once again to hear all those unspoken words.

A handful of sky

Looking up, staring at the sky spread across
Wishing that it would open up
And a cluster of wishes falls down upon me
I am gazing at the blue blanket
Imagining a making of concrete above me
Where my fingers touch every brick and cement
Where every wall speaks volumes of my dreams
I continue looking at the sky
Wishing it would open up
I could spread my arms and collect in their fold
Every cent that would rain down upon me
All these cents would form one brick in my dream
I am looking up at the sky
Longing for the warmth of the walls,
The hue of the paint that would adorn them,
The place I can call 'home',
And would give me a feeling of 'mine'
I look up at the sky
A drop of water touches my face
The sky opens up
It drenches me, my dreams and my hopes.

Voices

There are noises all around 
Ice Age playing on the TV
The noise of one kid playing with his aunt
The noise of a cartoon upstairs
Someone else is speaking on the phone in some corner
The water is trickling from the freezing from the tap beyond
The rain lashing at the windows adding to the cacophony
That was yesterday..
Its a new day, but the noises are still there
A kid throwing darts in the air
Another humming some sacred tune
Someone clearing their throat... 
Outside the white flakes are swaying in the light breeze
On their descent downward
The whiteness is echoing its sound of purity
Amidst all this noise, 
I hear the silence, like you
I hear the unspoken words, like you
The million expressions so near, yet so far
Those sounds echo in my ears, like yours
Amidst all this noise we hear the voices..
Voices of smiles, voices of happiness, 
Voices of togetherness, voices of love.

White sheath.

I drive through the crystal clear roads,
Every inch beside the road is white
Nature has placed its white blanket on its every making
The roof of the church is blessed in white
Like a divine touch from the heavens above
The little branches of the barren trees
Giving shelter to the showers from above
A heap of the flurries outside my doorstep
I place my feet and they go deep inside
The lake which played with waves yesterday
Are a frozen sheath of water today
So soft and still, yet so scary
The postcard of nature fills the eye
Its white sheath whispers its awe.

The candy machine...

"Amma, I don't need an afterschool care snack today", said my five year old boy.

Concerned, I ask "Why, won't you be hungry".

"Yeah Amma, can I get something from the candy machine?" came the candid reply. His face pleading to me.

"Tomorrow, is your Christmas party, I will get you something from the candy machine, when I come tomorrow".

"Ok, Amma. I want the green packet of Skittles, which has the sprinkles on it". was his instant reply.

My son, goes to after school care in his school premises, after 3.10pm, when his school is dismissed. I should thank him with all my heart, for being so understanding and willing to stay in school for another three hours, while I attend to conference calls and emails. Anyways, all the kids who make this sacrifice for their parents, are assembled in a huge room called the Colonial Room, under the supervision of a teacher. This room has cupboards for games, benches for the kids to sit and the famous "Candy Machine".

From the eyes of my five year old, its a machine, where you put money and press some numbers and the candy is out, ready to be picked up and savored. Yes, a vending machine with chocolates. The first time I saw a vending machine was when I arrived in the US of A, six years ago.

Each day these kids, [I am guessing here], go to the candy machine and point out to their favourite and because they are still learning to read, probably guess the name of the candy and imaginatively savor the taste.

One day, one of my son's friends [a girl] brought some bills from home, and left no stone unturned in showing off her tryst with the candy machine. The boys stood around her and were awed by her slick expertise in handling the seven feet machine. She opened her bag of candy and distributed gladly, to the girls only. Thus started a revolt by the boys against her. She was banned!

That evening I heard repeatedly "Amma, we don't like her, she is so mean, she didn't give us candy, she is so rude, we boys don't like the girls...." and so on.

He also said, "Amma, my friend Wilson was so sad, that he didn't get a candy. Can you give me some money so that I can buy candy and give it to him?" I was touched by his thoughtfulness.

He narrated the same story to my husband. My husband asked him "If I give you money, and you buy the candy, would you share with the girl?". "No!!" came the instant reply. "She did not share it with the boys, so I will not share with the girls." Fair enough. My husband told him, "Do you think if you share the candy with her, the next time she will share with you?" My son, thought for a while and said "I think you are right Appa".

The next day, when I went to pick up my son in the evening, we slipped a dollar bill into the magic machine. It went in, we pushed a couple of numbers and out came the candy packet. My son opened it and shared it with everyone, boys and girls and the she-did-not-share girl. Wilson got a huge share. The did-not-share-girl got the point, my son looked at me and winked.