Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Warm embrace of kidhood

Tiny hands fumbling,
Contouring cursives.
Tiny feet staggering,
Spanning corridor.
His babble,
Seldom making sense.
And now
Confident hands
Arranging bookshelves.
Confident strides
Shifting furniture.
Occasionally nuggets of wisdom
In complete innocence.
His hearty embrace unchanged.
He comes running for one now.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

We all have a story

Wrinkled, thumbed, yellowed.
Dated her collegedays.
All beginning with
"Dearest Dora".
Dora! Doreen!
The vexatious old Doreen!
Incorrigibly narky,
Definitely unsweet.
And yet,
Here it is.
Her very own
Sealed carton story,
Being sold to scrapdealer,
With quivering hands.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Shivering sea

Despite the layers, she stiffled a shiver,
Under a foggy grey sky, without a visible star,
Amidst a myriad of humans and cars, an endless sea.

His words stirred her, like ripples in the sea,
With bated breath she listened, stiffled another shiver,
Moon would have made it perfect, moon and some star.

But she knew they were out there, both the moon and the star,
And that made it perfect. Her own perfect little story in a sea
Of infinite love stories. Two souls bursting in an ecstatic shiver.

She stiffled another shiver, was it because there was no moon or star that she was now left with a sea of memories.

Monday, December 22, 2014

Monday's measly minutes #7

Dear Monday,

I participated in December poetry slam : Tritinas.
Of the two prompts given to me, I have attempted one. On a workMonday, I could afford only these many measly minutes. Plus the skepticism about trying a totally new thing.

But I liked the format so I will try the other set soon.

On with the prompt set: Christine Hanolsy suggested the following set for me: dark, wind, gold.

And here's my very first Tritina:

Only if you were not a dream of dark
Winter night; I would have told the wind,
To call you back; Bonding beneath the sliver of silvery gold.

But when the skies were stained a sparkling gold,
All I had with me were wrinkled reminders from dark,
And some lilting sussarations of the cold moist wind.

Slowly the leaves and straws scattered in the wind,
With the wind. Slowly, through you I turned to gold,
Burning yet satiated, Like fireflies in the dark.

Like a wanderer's homecoming from the dark, like a sparrow in sweeping strong wind, like a moth drawn to amber gold, I too surrendered.

So while you figure out what I did here, my Monday clock is asking me to move on to the next thing in the list.

Welfare unto all ...

Sunday, December 21, 2014

The abandoned abode

The castle had seen its days of glory. When the days were splendid and nights beautiful. It was one such beautiful night that Radhini's first cries echoed in the mansion. Radhini, the princess, ruled the hearts. Her melodies filled the corners of the palace. She was the spring, summer and autumn of that place. She was the smiles and joys of her father, the king to the civilians. She was heart and soul of the village.
Then Radhini, who ruled the hearts, lost her heart. To a civilian. Who did not belong to the royalty. Who was a common man from common lanes of village. And that was not unacceptable to those who formulate the rules and ordinances and decrees. In the name of honour, swords were drawn. And blood was shed. The village was swept away in red streams. The melodies were silenced forever. Radhini became the winter of the mansion. Perpetual, everlasting winter.
The castle and its territory weathered the dark nights alone ever since, robbed of its glory. Wanderers and passersby reported hearing the cries of Radhini in the palace. The village stays steeped in darkness all the time. Not even a candle could be lit in the premises. And the adventurous souls that dared to risk the night never saw the breaking of dawn. The daytimes were eerily heavy with the azure skies stained.
The archaeological department conceded defeat. It could not explain the source of the strange incidents observed in the castle. So they had finally put up boards warning not to stay in the precincts after sunset. The area was cordoned off. The seclusion was absolute and intense. Not even winged friends wandered there. The castle and its territory stood in its melancholy regalia adorned by the moonlight. Occasionally the streaks of lighting reminded people the power of love stories betrayed by the baseless decrees.

Courtesy: Ermilia blog: Picture it and write

Linking with Picture it and write

Friday, December 19, 2014

The growing and the raking

Did you just see what she was wearing?
Actually, it is only a little short.
What time did she get back last night?
Actually, she did not. She returned this morning.
What is it with her and her phone? She rarely leaves it alone.
Actually kids these days like to stay connected. All the time.
Night stay with friends?
Actually, its just a night stay.
A Boy friend? At her age?
Take a chill pill.
Seems like I am raking against a wall.
Seems like we are growing old. Don't worry her roots will stay tangled in our little web.

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers

Linking with: Friday Fictioneers

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Echoes of silence

Funerals were commonplace in the valley. And it was not suprising. The gunfires and bombings heralded their mornings instead of temple chimes and prayers. The evening dusks came with tears and cries. Goodbyes were said often to the loved ones. That was their price for living near the border, those manmade boundaries on paper that distinguished where their terrains and territories ended and where the others began. Yes, funerals were commonplace in the valley. No massive rituals. No waiting for distant dear ones. Swift quick prayers whispered in the soft winds. You don't need echoes where silence is in abundance.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Chimes

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Lost but found

So, I stared,
Too long,
She looked up.
In that moment,
I drowned eternally,
In those
Caramelized deeps.
Never bothering to return to shore.
And right there,
In that coffee-shop,
I redeemed,
I retrieved,
All of myself,
From dark abysses.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Monday's measly minutes #6

Dear Monday,
Its finally winters.
Not the average, mildly sweatered, bright sunny winters.
But snowy, shivery, dark and damp winters. They have finally arrived.
With lots of snow over the weekend.
The very thought when penned down gave me goosebumps.
So while the world gears up for Christmas, the people back home are gearing to face power cuts, freezing water and freezing temperatures.
I have been strictly warned to assist and not to call on landline. Because it is placed in the corridor and it is numbingly cold for them to stand there and talk.
The markets are full of veggies, colorful, nutritious bounties so lacking in summers.
And groundnuts, walnuts, cashewnuts, chilgozas ... Mouthwatering, delectable treats.
Not to forget the woollen wardrobe that has so much to offer.
Now that I think of all these things, winters suddenly don't sound gloomy at all.
And I guess I am running out of my measly minutes also.
I have to splash cold water on my face.
Hey, can we stretch the time limit ... Just a little ... Just saying.
Okay so the water is cold and yes it is finally winters here ...

Sunday, December 14, 2014

The Big Day

To hem their blessings with thank you.
To pray, not just with mouth but from the depths of their hearts.
That was their plan to herald “The Big Day”, the day the Good Lord was born.
The Big Day – when the weather would turn and the days would begin to lengthen again. Or rather used to.
The days were changing. So were weathers. And what were the mortals to make out of the ways of nature.
It had never been so cold before.
The rain mixed with snow was numbing. Snow at merely 3000ft above sea level.
Now who could have thought of that.
So the winters would stay. It was just the beginning.
And so they layered themselves up, wearing literally thick blankets, while trying to hasten about their daily errands and while trying to be in time for the holy get-together.
Amidst the numbing cold, the township was bustling with festivities. Gaiety and merriment turned the somber dull winters to bright bubbling arroyos.
… Their choirs are singing,
Till the air, everywhere, now their joy is ringing.
Cold tried to tie them down. They tied back the cold.
The congregation was yielding thanks and singing praise to Lord Almighty.
Sub zeros melted with the warmth of their hearts.
With ever joyful hearts,
And blessed peace to cheer us,
And keep us in his grace
And guide us when perplexed
And free us from all ills
In this world and next.
But not all celebrate. Not all herald peace.
There always is a spoil sport.
He came and genuflected before the altar.
And while others were imploring with closed eyes, he thanked the missionaries who had readied him for the day.
He felt exalted. Proud of the contribution he was making.
Mechanically, he touched a button on his jacket.
The echoes of his prayer boomeranged for a while.
And then sirens took over.
The sanctum was silent now.
Tattered shreds of life, all beyond mending, lay strewn in the pews.
The Big Day had arrived.

Original image on Tumblr.
Courtesy : Picture it and write ...

Linking with Picture it and write

Saturday, December 13, 2014

The Revenant

Every time the trucks come and dump loads of urban wastes. All sorts. Plastic. Metal. Dirt. Paper. Thermocol. Biodegradable. Non-biodegradable. Anything and everything imaginable. Week after week. Month after month. Annually. Perennially.
The heap accumulates. On the banks. On the hill side. On all sides.
The heap enured to additions. The heap enured with time. The humans enured to heap.
And then it rains. It rains for days. It rains heavily. Persistently.
The rivulet fills up. The stream becomes river. The river floods up. Violent. Turbulent. Enraged. Infuriated. Washing everything in its wake. The aftermath cleansing. The backwash purifying. Ablutionary. Punitory. Absolvitory.

Courtesy: Friday Fictioneers
Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Friday, December 12, 2014

Six rupees sixty-six paise

The water in the kettle simmered. Raji looked intently. Beyond the kettle, beyond the window. Beyond the barren brown spread. Into the vacuum. She had just returned from the Bank. Her fifth round after her husband's death four months back. They had sent condolences. And they had doled out paltry sums of money like handouts to beggars. But the ex-gratia, the lumpsum of 6 lakhs, they just keep denying it to her. Keep telling her she earns exactly Rs.6.66/- more than the cutoff. Like its her fault. Rattling kettle-lid brought her back. Had to get dinner ready for her kids.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Kettle

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

A tryst

Somber infinities
Legions of
Moments together.
Entirety of being
Pitted against
Zeroed souls.
One question.
One answer.
The stakes, high.
Breath, bated.
We can take the risk and fall.
Live with wasted souls.
Either ways, we lose.

Monday, December 8, 2014

Monday's measly minutes #5

Nobody's tomorrow is guaranteed.
You. Mine. Nobody.
Yeah! Nobody gets a promise of "afterwards".
It is right here. Right now.
It is the breath we inhale. Or exhale.
The vice versa, well ... that is a huge question mark.
We live in piece meals. Postponing living.
All the while waiting for a tomorrow we have not seen, we are not sure of.
And the present is crumpled and consigned to shadows.
The hands wipe a layer of dust from the windows of yesterday.
A lifeful of regrets peep through.
Trust me, it does not take time for time to become a memory.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Dear winter scramblings

Dear winter,
So long.
Am I glad to bump into you.
Your cold caresses make me feel so loved.
Snug and warm.
A wanting that exuberant summers do not satiate.
Nor do the falls of autumn.
May be because I am a hill girl.
And wherever you take me, you cannot take that away from me.
The smoky evenings, the air laden with earthy aroma of burning coal,
The hushed eventide arriving swiftly and urgently with sunset,
The freezing water
And amidst it all,
The perseverance
To herald summers with vigour and spirit.
It is time for me to be home.

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Dear

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Ineluctably falling

It would be a head-long fall.
Unruly dive,
Ring of fire.
Gravity deluding,
And flames rising
My best bet
Would be to
Without looking back.
Toppling dominoes,
Shifting sands,
Yielding heart.
An unwavering
Leap of faith.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Monday's measly minutes #4

Nearly midnight.
The wedding band is playing in full swing.
That is what Punjabi weddings are famous for.
They are lavish and loud.
Trying to sleep.
But the band is keeping me awake.
My roommate has already fallen asleep.
I guess so have other girls in other rooms.
But I am wide awake.
The beats die down intermittently only to resume with gusto.
So many thoughts, some conflicting some condescending.
Earlier in the day, I said goodbye to yet another association.
Farewells have become a part of life over the years.
Occasionally I cry but mostly I am able to control the tide.
Every person you meet becomes a part of story, a chapter in your bestseller.
You learn. You share. You grow.
Happy trails to all those who have played their part for the time. Until we meet again, may God keep them all in palm of his hand.
The band has stopped playing.
I guess I should catch some sleep too before succumbing to the monotony of morning.
Welfare unto all ...