Sunday, December 23, 2012

Thanks for the Liebster Award

Deana from “My thoughts on thesubject are as follows” has sent me this beautiful present - The Liebster award. I cannot put it in words how pleased I am (read my blog is) to have received an award. The blog has made a humble beginning towards a journey of many more miles. I am truly overwhelmed and honored with this love showered on my blog.

Having made my “thank you speech”, I will now receive this award, share some facts, answer some questions and nominate other blogs that I think are worthy recipients of this award.

Sharing facts:
Fact 1 – I prefer my mother’s cooking to all others.
Fact 2 – I love reading, mostly fictions.
Fact 3 – I love knitting and crocheting.
Fact 4 – I can’t drive, not even ride a bicycle.
Fact 5 – I am dead scared of lizards.
Fact 6 – I was/am Phantom, Mandrake, Jeanie, Bewitched, Different strokes, Small wonder and Cullen family addict.
Fact 7 – I am attracted to bracelets and anklets. At one point I boasted of a bracelet collection where I could wear them once a month without repeating.
Fact 8 – I prefer winters to summers, mainly because I love winter clothes.
Fact 9 – When it comes to shopping, I can’t resist buying jackets.
Fact 10 – I am a little short tempered. Ok. More than a little.
Fact 11 – Amidst job hunting, I am enjoying my home tutoring and writing exercises.

Now over to answering the questions:
1. What is the best advice you have ever been given?
Thank you is the best prayer.
2. If tomorrow was your last day, what would you do?
Nothing special.
3. How old were you when you first truly felt love?
Culprit question that delayed this thank you post. I did not want to delay indefinitely so I gave up and wrote the rest of the post instead.
4. What is your favorite holiday and why?
Diwali, i like the holes in the darkness that are supposed to light up our lives.
5. Do you believe in Karma and why?
I am not sure if I do. But I do believe in action and it having an equal and opposite reaction.
6. What does this nomination mean to you?
An honor. I feel so grateful for this nomination. The support, the appreciation, the love that I have received is truly priceless.
7. If you could spend the day with 1 person, past or present, who would it be?
My maternal grandmother.
8. What do you like most about yourself?
9. What do you like least about yourself?
My short temper.
10. Why do you write?
Because I know no other creativity that helps me express my self.
11. What do you miss most about your childhood?
Many things, carefree life would top them all.

Nominating some blogs:

They will have to post eleven facts about themselves.
Answer the questions that the tagger has set for them.
Choose eleven people with fewer  than 200 followers 
Go over to their page and tell them about the win
And no tag backs.

My questions for the nominations:
1. What is your favorite color and why?
2. What does this award mean to you?
3. If you could be any character in a movie, what would you be?
4. What is your first childhood wish?
5. What is your favorite book?
6. What is your favorite blog?
7. Who was your first crush?
8. What is your favorite dish?
9. What would be one material thing you would want to accompany you after death?
10. Who would be one celebrity you would like to spend an hour with?
11. What is your favorite quote?

Thanks. This would be one of the biggest posts in long time now.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Granny, we have come!

Crossing hills and plains,
In an eight hours drive.
Fighting for sitting
By the window side,
Singing songs to
While away time,
Finding paradise
After a dusty cart ride.
Granny, we have come!

Linking up with Trifextra : Week Forty-Seven : This weekend we want you to give us a pithy summary of your feelings about the holidays.

Enfield - enfeebled

I was marching into men's field.
I was carving my own niche.
I was greeted with stares.
I was mocked and jibed.
That could have stopped me,
But I just simply smiled.
For those who cannot,
will dare not,
to forge ahead
and make new horizons.
So determined I was,
So strong was my resolution,
That without a thought,
Without any doubt,
I took another step,
And lo! The accolades and acclamation.
I had won.
I had done it.
I had marched into men's field.
I had enfeebled their enfield.

P.S. This is a salute to the spirit of a friend.

Linking with Alphabe-Thursday : Letter E

Tuesday, December 18, 2012


Silent phones,
Unanswered messages,
Chats left hanging in the middle,
Promises to be right back,
Only to be broken
With an endless wait.
Busy or misplaced priorities?
But somehow,
There is always a time,
For a tweet or a FB update,
With its impenetrable words,
And inscrutable countenance.
Reminiscences hurt now,
So do reflections.
Have times changed
Or is it just us,
Busy building crowds
On gadgets with lonely hands?
The long talks, the hearty laughs,
The Kodak moments, handful and precious,
And the treasure of memories;
Fading away in chosen special effects.
Some things just never heal,
Of loss.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Twenty Jewels

“You smile not, oh my lady dear,
Can I lend some help to thee?
What woes your tender heart,
What sorrow plagues thee?”
“I lost a twenty jewels today,
Great treasure closed on me.”
“I will craft some jewels, cut them well,
And bring them back to thee.
For jewels are my trades, my toys, dear
I will bring many more to thee.”
“Oh, will your diamonds weave some stories,
And dream some rainbow dreams?
And will their hearts beat with love
And their feet play hide and seek?
Their tender hands, build me castles,
And promise futures bright to me?”
“They sparkle bright and glitter right,
But what you ask of me,
This I fear, these twenty jewels
I can’t bring back to thee.”
“Then leave me alone, my dearest friend,
Your jewels bring no joy to me.
And let this pain, this sorrow of mine,
Rend my heart and me.”

Friday, December 14, 2012

What's in a name

It was about
Translating a file.
All I did was,
Share a software.
By the time they finished,
They had names like
Divine Dreams,
Run Goddess,
Deep Secret,
Victory Lion
In excel.

Linking with Trifextra : Week Forty-SixThis weekend we're asking you to write 33 words that will make us laugh or smile.  Even a chuckle will do.  We look forward to the communal spirit lifting.
Linking with Alphabe-Thursday : Letter D

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Showstopper's Yesterday

The 12 inch heel, the confident gait,
The measured steps, the sudden halt,
The blush on cheeks, the smoldering eyes,
The hands on hips, head held high,
The silken gown, barely there,
A tilt of neck, balanced well,
The sultry glance, timed right,
Perfect half twirl, played twice,
With a graceful swirl, she turns back.
The world looks on with stolen breath,
Oohs, aahs, applauds, encores.

The showstopper’s yesterday,
Now hangs in a gallery,
Fading parchment, guarded unnecessarily.
No shadows of glamour come a-chasing,
For vacant eyes and sagging skin,
For shattering illusions, hanging questions,
Am I never going back?

Linking with The Mag : Mag 147

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

First snowfall

The crisp black against the white moon.
The silent night, the dead winds,
Stilled by the anticipation.
The bare branches, hang low.
A little golden glow
Of a dim street lamp spreads out like a halo.
The foggy streets, so empty and lonely.
A moment of smoke, as I dare to breathe,
Little vapors rise, and dance away.
Gently they come down, like a lullaby,
The fluffy little cotton balls,
The trees, those sentries of the wintery nights,
Greet them with their open arms,
Delighted by the embrace.
A soft but thick white blanket underneath my feet,
And I leave a trail behind.
And from a distant, a cart comes jingling.
Oh, and the driver sings a song.
It has been for the winters here and gone.
It is,
Of a first snowfall.

Sunday, December 9, 2012


Gently, ever so gently,
The day blends into
The twilight.
The fluttering wings
Make their way back
To the niches.
The graying skies
Alive with the shrill calls,
Fall silent.
Slowly, the light fades.
The grey recedes in the
Expanding black folds.
The million rays of moon,
Dance midst the trees.
The gentle winds spread out
Like the hands of angel.
A thousand glittering beauties
Rain down.
The night is born.
Ravishing and resplendent.

Friday, December 7, 2012

One Blessed Life

Hiding in the
Spectacularly clean,
Rushing through deadlines,
Boarding cheap flights,
Just to be sandwiched in
The loving hugs again,
It’s been
One blessed life.
(Cooking and laundry included.)

Linking up with Trifextra : Week Forty-fiveThis weekend we are giving you three variations on a prompt.  We need you to give us 33 words back, and 2 of those words must be either "cheap flights," "sandwiched in" or "spectacularly clean."  This weekend, your piece must also be non-fiction (poetry or prose).

This weekend's challenge, being a Trifextra evenly divisible by three, will be judged by the community.  Please be sure to come back and click on your favorite three posts (or up to three posts).

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Remember me as a candle

Remember me as a candle,
That lit your way,
When all was dark,
And there was no ray
That tried to help you in every way
And prayed that all joys and smiles, in your heart they stay,
To give you strength to cross all that blocks the path,
To keep you from falling and stumbling as you pass,
That stood by you when things went down and rough,
And that was there with you when the times were tough,
That braved the winds along with you,
To cheer you up when you were feeling blue …
And now that you call me and I cannot appear,
Do not worry and don’t ever fear,
Far from your heart I can never be,
I will always be the light to help you see,
When it grows dark, just look in your heart,
I may not be there but my light will never part …
Remember me as a candle,
That may not be burning now,
But that lit your way once.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The wish of the Little Lord

She scoops him up in her slender arms, the sleepy little bunch; still snuggling and cozying himself up. His unwilling eyes open a moment later and shut again. She gathers that he is not willing to shake off his dreams yet. So, together they stay locked in the moment for a little while. He bundling up in her arms and her fingers running through little golden, little brown locks. Wake up dear, her voice fond, gentle, loving and all such things. No, he shakes his head. Want to sleep some more? No, another shake of the head. And it is a No for all the bribes that follow. And every no is more determined than the last one. She gives up. They are back to square one. Her fingers in his hair, and his eyes shut. Little Bo peep has lost her sheep she manages in the nearly Preeti Sagar tune. Eyes still shut, but his face has eased up. Has lost her sheep eyes open, faint hint of smile. And doesn’t know where to find them. No his eyes wistful. And in those sad eyes, she reads his wish, the one that she was about to crush with her voice. She frees her right hand, stretches a little, and presses a button. The sound of fan makes him a little hopeful but his heart is still guarded. A black screen comes to life. She weaves her way through some folders, selects a few files and clicks play selected. Little Bo peep has lost her sheep. The wide awake eyes are now glued on the screen, lips curved in an innocent smile and all is well again. She returns to her chores. The playlist ends and he manages something like an enquiring gone or maybe it was actually finish in his not yet 2 year old language. She hastily repeats the playlist for him lest his eager fingers start playing on the keyboard. Two repeats later, the little lord rises and walks out.

Holidays are like Honey Roasted Almonds

Holidays are time when all in the family:
The little ones with wild imaginations,
The growing with “Whatever” in their hearts and mind,
The grown-ups with all their worldly baggage,
The wise with their wisdom,
Celebrate togetherness.
Holidays are like
2 cups almonds
Baked for 10 min
In a 350 degrees oven
Cooled and then treated
With a boiling and bubbling
Concoction of honey, water and butter,
Spiced up with a little sugar,
Salt, cinnamon powder,
And loads of love,
Cooled again and
Served with warmth in heart.
Holidays are like healthy snacks,
Crunchy and munchy
Family time together.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Knitted love

Was it just last week -
When I started working,
Through the little tangles,
Of the pink and yellow yarn,
The one that is now,
A close resemblance of,
With the two grey pins,
And rhythm in their feet,
With a knot here and a knit there,
Purls and cables, layer by layer,
The growing piece -
Knitted in stolen moments,
Midst the rush of life,
Those flutters of heart
With the misses of loops,
For the want of help,
And then the deft rescues
Of mother’s trained hands,
- The love for loved
Has taken shape.
The blue yarn asks.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

Winter rebellion

Gloved hands,
Busy knitting,
Sitting by the side of
The warm hearths.
The loving folds of
Quilts and blankets;
The dressing up in
Layers and jackets.
Winters, we’re ready
To take on thee.

Linking up with Trifextra : Week Forty-Four - Write exactly 33 words about rebellion and/or revolt.  Interpret it as you will, just keep it to 33 words.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Silent witness

The wood beneath my feet
Creaked a little
And broke the silence
I had been listening to
All day.
I rubbed my hands
And wrapped my shawl
A little more tightly.
Flocks of birds were flying away
To the warmer lands
Across miles and miles of snow.
Two laughing hearts
Ran hand in hand
Leaving behind footprints.
They stopped to catch their breath
And his caring gloved hand
Ran through her golden tangles.
Tomorrow they will not be around
To greet the
Golden glitters of sunrise.
But the white blankets,
Will bear a silent witness
To this flight
Of hearts.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012


Summer’s green leaves,
Supple and soft,
Birds in boughs,
Chirping and chattering.
Tiny feet conquering
More than my height.
I, stood proud, with
Green carpet at feet,
Blue shade on head,
And life in my heart.

Spring time’s flowers,
Glorious and fragrant,
Beholding all.
Bowed with
rich fruits,
Ripe with seeds.
I, stood grateful, my
Arms in lush foliage,
And heart full of love.

Bright yellow leaves,
Tints of the sunset,
Soft golden glow.
The rustling remains
Falling slow.
I, stood blushed, midst
The pirouetting autumn,
And the fading laughter,
My heart a little saddened.

A stark silhouette
Against the sky.
I wear no nests,
No shade for rest.
Dead in dead cold.
I stand today,
Just me and my hollow being.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Blessed to be alive

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and see the beauty of
dew-drops on the flowers.

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and feel the strength
of the rising sun.

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and enjoy the treasures
that surround me.

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and see my loved ones
happy and satisfied.

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and work for
and chase my dreams.

I am blessed to be alive
to be able to rise up this morning
and bow my head
in Your Grace.

I am truly blessed to be alive.

My Favorite Thing

Sweet and sour,
The blooming flower,
The ageing shades,
The greens and jades,
The reds and blues,
The lovely hues,
Springs and autumns,
Dreams in bosom,
Life, I hold, in all its glory.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Landslide - I think I know how it feels.

The remains of the day close in,
My smile broadens.
8 P.M. date – with family, friends
Aaaand Shahrukh!

My to do list is all taken care of

Wait!  Two last minute urgent submissions
They were nowhere in the original plan.
Mum’s a sweetheart – she takes up kitchen
And I, hasty typing
Wow! The words are flowing
I can do it.

I hit the send button at 7:35.
I’m dressed by 7:37
Dad – I’m ready!
7:38 – dad picks up the keys.
7:38:01 – the phone rings.
8P.M. show has been advanced to 6P.M. in winters.

Landslide – I think I know how it feels.

Monday, November 19, 2012

What stays behind

Things you did
Things left undone
They all drift.
Shift into the oblivion.
Like the golden sand blown away.
Lost in the folds of time.
What stays behind is
A faint scent
Lingering in the layers,
What you could have done
What you should have done.
And one fine day,
As you sift the warm sand
Through your fingers.
Those memories, regrets,
Smiles, tears,
All come alive.
A radiant you looks lovingly
On the mosaic

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Something I'm not thankful for

Blood spattered faces
On the first page.
It’s no terrorist attack,
No Babbar Khalsa is up in arms.
Still a historical Gurudwara
Witnesses a blood bath.
Power and money-box calling!
So they pick up the swords,
And fight their brothers,
And stain the sanctum-sanctorum,
Strangling our faiths,
In the holiest shrines.
Can politics spare God, at least?

Linking up with Ketchup With Us #6

Friday, November 16, 2012

Love in shadows

Playing hide and seek with you
Was so much fun
And all those little games
The stories that you shared
The shadows of the past
Holding hands with you
All come back to me

And it hurts to see
The ants hollowing up
That big old guava tree
The one that you had planted
To give us shade and love.
And like the trunk you held us both
Weak branch clung to your soul
Now that you are gone
There’s no one to hold
The branches and the leaves.

I am kind of incomplete
Like the holes driven through this plaque
But read the words I left behind
Just fill in my name
And when you do so
I hope you see them through
And that they mean something to you
For they would mean the world to me.

Lining up with Trifextra : Week Forty-two - Write between 33-333 words incorporating the following three photos.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

An encounter

As the early winter rain came down swiftly,
He wrapped the free end of his turban
Around his face, his wet bare chest:
Glistened red with cold.
His strong hands, coarse and dark
With dirt and grime.
They brushed past mine
Carefully manicured and Vaseline-d.
And his body reeked of the sweat he had shed
Earlier in the day.
And the odor of his labor, well, no amount of rain
Could wash it away.
His turban a dirty white, greased and soiled
But worn with pride.
His gaze uninspired, lifeless and vacant,
Tired by the toil and travail.
As he hopped off the slowing bus,
His cracked heels hit the wet dirt.
I saw the cold rain snaking down his spine,
And I shivered despite my woolens.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012


Charts and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two. As if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue.
Anger pulsed through every fiber of her being. Three times her seed been thwarted from blossoming; the flower nipped in bud.
Ludhiana. Amritsar. New York. Nothing had changed.
It was a girl the words left his lips, and stayed with her, forever ringing. Next time maybe came the consolation, and his X chromosomes consummated with hers again. The routine never wavered. Neither in pattern nor in words.
Three months was all she would get. And then, one word of doctor would bring her world crashing down.
Only not this time, she vowed. And a mother was born in that instant.

The story has been continued by Kelly Garriott Waite from Writing in the margins, bursting at the seams.
Please click here to read complete story.

When Trifecta first started, Joules was not an editor.  She was on the other side of things, and she won the first two Trifecta challenges.  Here is her first-ever Trifecta response.  It's 38 words.  We want you to give us the rest of it.
Charts and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two. As if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue.

Even though I am not participating officially, I wanted to write for Trifecta.
And it is so heartening to have Kelly helping me out for the second leg of this story.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

From a coat's heart

Hey hi!
Remember me.
The new sleeveless coat from your closet.
You bought me exactly a week ago.
The memory is still fresh.
You fell in love with me when you walked in to the shop with your mother but you were still making up your mind. Kind of okay with me. Until that evening when you walked in with your father and mother, and then walked up to me. And guess what, you even tried me once more. I loved it. Your father looked at us – both of us and considered the option. Then you asked for some other coats in my category. I was scared. Competition. What if I lost? I would have to go back to standing in the aisle with other coats. No ways! I held my breath as the salesman shot me a look – It is a Piccado sir, the best that we have. Relief. And this is how I walked out with you - smiling to myself in that shopping bag. One more trial, I made every effort to look my best, got a nod of approval from your cousin too and was tossed on bed. Until you found me a sturdy hanger and put me in a closet. With so many others.
And that is where I have been hanging. Ever since. In a dark, lonely, quiet closet. Waiting for my turn to be picked up. I have not seen the daylight or the evening light ever since. Not that I am complaining but a little fresh air would do me good.
This Tuesday maybe? I heard about Diwali and new clothes.
I promise I will be a good company
Just, you and me and everyone else too - what say?
Oh yes, and do I need to dress up too?
Yours ever.

Linking up with Write on Edge - Red Writing Hood - New

Friday, November 9, 2012

You call it Pareto, we call it love

"All I want is 20% of your time to see through 80% of my love."
"I know I didn't say 100%. That would need more than a lifetime. So?"
Smile. Nod. Yes!!!

Linking with Trifextra : Week Forty One

The Curse of The Red Lady

The beaded veil,
The pleated gazar,
The blush on cheeks
Befitting a bride -
But cast aside.
Her lowered eyes,
Shed silent tears –
Stained with his blood.
200 Years later,
An uncelebrated museum -
The audience left,
Admiring “The Red Lady”.
They say the marble never fades.
One among them, fell in love,
And never saw the daylight.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Faint glimmer in heart

Ripe autumn air’s come to bless.
Showering sweet November caress.
We could be holding hands and walking,
Silent but still talking.
Faint glimmer in heart.
White winters, no flowers in sight.
Frosty December moonless night.
And here I am hoping for your arm,
To keep me safe, to keep me warm.
Faint glimmer in heart.
The year twenty twelve is leap they say.
Oh! I can hope some more, there’s one more day.
Hope for smiling summers with you,
Hope for blessings to rain through.
Faint glimmer in heart.
Dying, not yet vanished,
There’s a faint glimmer in this heart.

Linking with Trifecta : Week Fifty

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Why we write ...

Thoughts clamor.
Stories rattle.
Musings resonate.
And, we seek one another -
As our words become our voice.
One speaking, the other listening.
And this is how we talk.
Silently, unraveling each other.

Friday, October 5, 2012

The Autumn

The then blossoming buds and lush greens,
Now the falling leaves of autumn.
The blooming clusters now withered and wasted.
Twilight, again!
The spring is dawn,
Only to those who brave the fall.

Monday, October 1, 2012

The moment

It was her umpteenth shift in that cramped bus on a Monday morning. She had hoped to avoid the digging arms and elbows. But to no avail. Should she try again? The person sharing the seat was already stealing stares at her. She still had one and a half hour of commute. He would probably get off at the next stop or the one next to it. Or he could move to another place, if he really could. Yeah, she would give it a try. Another uneasy shift. Now, the weight, arms, elbows and eyes fell on her back. She could survive it.
She risked one more movement, opening the rusted window. The cold, crisp, early October, morning air greeted her, a pleasant contrast to the stifling odors of the bus. She finally, settled cozily and tried to lose herself in the contours of the hills falling and rising, the waters breaking forcefully at the sands and stones.
Sometimes, the banks were all sand. There were many footprints dug into the soft damp sands. She imagined all kinds of stories behind them. Sometimes, the banks were more stone - grayish whitish, smoothened by the perpetual water tides. The terrain there looked rocky, harsh and uneven.
It was on one such rocky bank, she saw two pair of feet moving with caution – one hardened with age, the other still young and soft. She saw the feet, and then she saw the hands, clasped in a tight but careful grip. They wore dirty denims folded up to knees, and dirty vests with holes. Both carried fishing nets in their free hand, their faces hidden from her view. They reached the knee deep water, parted hands, distanced and positioned themselves and threw their nets in - the larger net going out first and forcefully; then, taking its cue, the smaller one followed.
The view shifted. The hills and the river receded to the background and the town came to the front.
The moment remained with her.

Friday, September 28, 2012

The Threshold .. continued

The last strains of sunlight lingered in the corners, grasping every available point of refraction.  She slid her fingertips along the glass wondering if this was all there ever was. Or could be.
She knelt at the threshold and kissed its dust. Her parting glance was blurred by silent tears. Then she stepped across. Into the twilight of 14th August, 1947.

Tryst with Destiny was being made.

The patrol herded her to the jeep. And all that time, her eyes searched the crowds - for Shera. He should have been here. Shera! Her soul cried out. Sheeeeeraaaaa ......
The jeep stirred.

This is in continuation of the submission made on 7th September, 2012, for Trifextra : Week Thirty-Two
The text in green is the earlier entry.

Linked with Trifextra : week Thirty-Five

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Science had failed to heal him, brazenly called him insane. Perhaps it was right, perhaps not. Desperate, his people sought Elvira, the red haired. With a victorious laugh, her hand went over his forehead, stilling him as ice. Her luscious red lips, shone in the dark, praying and chanting. Echoes hung in the silence. Magic filled the night. Her pitch rose – from whispers to shrieks. Incantations gained momentum and then suddenly died down. Everything became still. Deathly still. Beyond the walls of her sanctorum, a rooster crowed in the dawn. Elvira smiled. Blind faith had won again. Science had failed.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Blessed Ordinary

His spirit drained,
Flowing freely through the papers,
Scattered on his desk.
He thought of her,
And he thought of
The lullabies and cradles,
That waited for him.
Love and life,
Were beckoning.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Doing the dishes!

Yesterday’s gala at our house saw many crossed fingers. Trying to keep away rain. We had planned the celebration as a terrace party to gobble up that ever swelling milieu comfortably. But we expected  some 125 guests. At any other time, we could have managed with plates and spoon from our cupboard but not this time. 125 sets! Wow! The tent house services J my idea. Bad idea! The plates did look clean on the outside. But to be doubly sure, we (me included) sat in the scorching sun, doing the dishes before putting them to use. Hail the hygiene!

Wednesday, September 19, 2012


We are celebrating a wedding here.
Guests have already started coming for what is going to be the most breathtaking moment of my cousin’s life. And excitement galores here.
The ladies of the house are still making rounds to the tailors and the jeweler shops to get their scarlet and green suits right, to find some stunning adornment for their necks, arms, hair or ears. And I am wondering if they or rather their tender ear lobes will be able to bear the weight of things they are coveting. You see, I am pretty much decided with what I am going to wear and how I am going to wear it. Well, well! An advantage of not having to look after tiny trots or an ever nagging husband or wondering what my in-laws are going to think of my shopping spree.
And we are sure looking forward to tonight’s celebrations. With me writing for some three challenges in one post, it should be very clear, that we (I mean me and my family) are the hosts tonight. It is the night when we all sing and dance our hearts out – our ample Punjabi curves notwithstanding. Every nightingale of the house is revising her notes and trying her best to keep her little library a secret from others. Just like every damsel is stealing glances in that ancient mirror, convincing it to aver that she is the prettiest of them all.
Tomorrow, the couple will exchange their rings. Vintage candlestick on tables and roses will set the evening for romance. And come Saturday, we will set out to bring home the bride. Dancing, singing and marching with family and friends. Right from the heart of the town to a beautifully done wedding palace. And finally a sunny Sunday will see the couple exchanging vows.
And before we know it the guests will be saying goodbyes. Lives will be back to normal. Lovebirds will be flying out.
Let the celebrations begin!

Linking with Trifecta : Week Forty-Three
Linking with Write on Edge : Red Writing Hood Prompt - Clue (it goes live on Friday)
Linking with Picture it and Write it

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Rule of Third Eye

His Third Eye opened.
Rage burned desire.
His Tandava trampled life and love.
The Creator and Preserver suddenly became The Destroyer.
Amidst this annihilating chaos,
Parvati still conquered His heart.
Her love salvaged.

Inspired from The Hindu Mythology

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

A stroke of genius

Two stones, struck accidentally.
Sparks stirred. So did a thought.
And the fire was idolized forever.
Years later, someone brought it to our
Hearths and kitchens.
Somewhere out there,
A stone cut into the flesh.
Blood flowed, and thoughts raced.
And knives were born.
Someone dared to taste the apple,
The bread and the cinnamon;
To live in caves, the huts and homes;
To carve out the wheel.
It is to such pregnant minds that we owe our living.
Then be they the stroke of genius,
Or an errant radical thought.
It is what justifies life,
And the joy therein.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

The Lady with the Kilta

Her kilta carries all her burdens. And her kilta carries all her joys.
Every day.
It is the core of her existence.
Like every other persons’ in these villages out here.
And I am always intrigued by it.
Perhaps because, I have always thought that they use these only in the tea-gardens to put in the tea-leaves; that too only in movies and photographs. Little did I know that a kilta would carry not only their harvests, but all their purchases from the main town too? The list includes almost anything that needs to be carried all the way to or from the village. But now when I look around, I can spot many a hill women, wearing the traditional pattus (hand woven shawls) walking with the backs hunched under the weight of these strong hand woven cane baskets. Of course of late, they have started using the plasticized variant in bright green complete with black broad straps.
And boy, are these women strong? Their daily life is full of hardships, even the narrative of which might sound ancient. At least while sitting before a laptop in a plush seat. But they live exactly that life and they live it happily.
Coming back to her.
Every evening, she boards the bus and sits down next to me. And places her kilta safely by her side. It is covered with a red cloth, tied to the rim of the basket. So I do not know what she carries in it. And I have not had the courage to ask her. And I cannot answer the why this last line evokes.
Sometimes I see her smiling to herself. These days she keeps checking if her basket is safe again and again. I assume she is carrying gifts for her grandkids back home.
The other days, she looks heavyhearted. Perhaps, she has not been able to sell her goods. My brain works out the reason.
Only if I could steal a look into this basket of hers!
But, it is already time for her to get down.
May be tomorrow! Or day after…

Friday, September 7, 2012

The Threshold

The last strains of sunlight lingered in the corners, grasping every available point of refraction.  She slid her fingertips along the glass wondering if this was all there ever was. Or could be.
She knelt at the threshold and kissed its dust. Her parting glance was blurred by silent tears. Then she stepped across. Into the twilight of 14th August, 1947.
A Tryst with Destiny was being made.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Growing up

Tiny feet, those darling things,
Trot all over the place today,
Hiding, playing, running!
Was it not yesterday?
When we held hands,
And taught you to walk.
Or was it really yesterday?
When we weaved stories,
To lull you to sleep.
Taught you how to spell and read.
And all the while we were dealing,
With plus and minus,
Time – it flew away.
And today when the thunders strike,
You tell me not to be scared silly!
Boy, you have grown!
The joy I feel,
And a dull, proud ache.
In this aging heart of mine,
Blessings and prayers rise.


The thoughts and the absence thereof
Scribbled on the blank paper,
Perhaps, reads something like this.
Words put together can still make sense.
It is however, a vacant living,
A wandering existence,
That I am really scared of.

Friday, August 31, 2012

3 words of "Hope"

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about night - never lasts forever."

Linking up with Trifextra : Week Thrity-One

Sum up anything you want, but do it in three words.  Your response should mirror Frost's quote by beginning, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about--."  And the last four words are yours to choose. 

Monday, August 27, 2012

Routes blocked!!!

“Roads blocked!”
And then they all started laughing.
I closed my eyes and breathed. And in my mind, I undid all the planning those two words had triggered.
They find it fun, telling me such things.
They trick me every evening.
And like every time, their trick works.
But then my fears are not totally misplaced.
Why, the other day, the route had broken down at three places. And it had taken 7 hours to get a green signal. And then, one day, I had reached the office late – having braved a caving road and a minor transshipment.
But this last Saturday, topped them all.
The route was slippery through and through.
The Beas roared, fumed and swelled.
The clouds thundered and the lightning crackled almost all day long. A mighty tree broke down. And with it came down, many temporary shops that had nestled under it in good times.
The stretch across Thalout looked beautiful but intimidating with the water about to rise up to the road and the Rainsh Nala imitating a smaller version of the Niagara Falls.
The black mounds of rocks, now, mere rubble, greeted us at every corner near Hanogi Mata Nyaas.
The Jogani Mata stretch was crossed under heavy torrents of water dripping from mountains looming over the road. People crowded the temple, their eyes locked on the cracks, watchful and warning of the final collapse. The muddy debris was sliding down, fast, furious.
Between Pandoh and Dayod, the PWD and JCB people were working hard, to keep the debris off the road. Salute to their spirit.
Sambhal was the nightmare. Two monstrous rocks had fallen and the route had been blocked off completely. JCB’s had failed. And drilling machines were already sweating.
And, here my writing fails me.
All I remember is a rock pierced our car from one side, muddy debris hurled towards us from the other side and ardent, loud prayers filled the air around me.
I later heard they blasted the dinosaur.

Linking up with Trifecta: Week Forty

Friday, August 24, 2012

They call it sibling love!

Been fighting again!
This time, she would complain.
To Nana.
Pocket-money? Goodbye!
He would still buy her a grilled corn.
She would have to squirrel away hers. Treat him with a kite later.

Linking with Trifextra : Week Thirty - This weekend we want you to write a 33-word responseusing the name of an animal as a verb.
This challenge was a great learning for me and my family. I enjoyed familiarizing myself with the seemingly new usage. I am posting primarily for the fun of putting this learning to use. I hope you all enjoy reading this short scene too. I tried to create a brother-sister relation here. Fingers totally crossed!

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

A dream

The night was black and dark. With a stillness in the air. That reins in the ones with a faint heart. No matter how dark the night, she thought, the sun will shine through and the shadows will be left behind. She kept repeating these words to herself. She did not have the courage to look back. Only to trudge forward and onward. She had been trying to sell one of her handmade scarves to that rich couple. She had seen the last bus leave without her from over the lady’s shoulder. And she had seen the couple walk away without buying the scarf. It was so dark that once or twice she did stumble, but each time she got up and walked more cautiously. The cold did not bother her. One she had reached the familiar territory of her village, she relaxed. Theirs was a tiny hut with room enough for all of them. And the door looked like it would come off the hinges anytime. Yet her mother kept it locked. She wondered why. May be out of habit – why on earth would somebody want to steal our rags? She ate her dinner while her mother filled her with news from the family, the village and everywhere else. Then she switched off the lantern and with that the reality. Tonight she would dream of being that rich lady, the one with fox fur stole who had enough money to buy all her scarves but had walked away without buying one. Yes, she too would walk away revelling thoroughly in luxury. Even if for that one night alone. She too would bask in glory of riches. Would she be wearing satins or silk? She settled on silk and smiled in her sleep. Thankfully, it did not cost to dream.