Those were the best days

Highest landing shot.
Box cricket game on terrace,
ball falls, two storeys.

Linking with Photo Challenge #478

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Merry-go-round

 A slight gravid pause,

carousel at the peak-point.

Wild breezy laughters.

Written for video prompt by hellokoo from Insta-fam

Welfare unto all

Rab Rakha

Waste to wonder

Last month we had a family get together and we visited this place in New Delhi - The Waste to Wonder Park - a unique theme park. The park features the miniature replicas of iconic seven wonders of the world, created from industrial waste,  auto parts, cycle chains, car engines, truck springs, petrol tanks and what not. From The Taj Mahal to The Colosseum, we relished every single creation... Delhi sun, street food, family... Some memories...my throwback to the visit in 100 words

Crafted from waste,
scrap here, cast-off there,
the metallic replicas
of wondrous monuments, glisten.
Something like,
broken cups remade with gold.
History playing hide and seek
on that sunny Sunday noon.
The curious explorations,
bewildering;
revelations that follow,
mesmerizing.
Happy squeals,
zealous spirits,
awe-inspiring moments.
The structures,
coming alive
with our innocent laughter.
Oh! One perfect world tour.
From waste to wonders
and a walk
through those wonders, wonderful!
Throwback to that tickled time,
spent with tribe.
Throwback to that history class,
attended with friends.
Throwback to lively fragments
of time frame.
Handful of pictures.
Bag full of rich memories.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Fledglings of Falcon

The wailing walls of Sirhind,
stand in sombre solitude.
The howling chilling winds,
the numbing weeping waters of Sarsa,
bemoan and grieve.
Eternally condemned
and permanently blotted,
these coffers
rocked Thy tender kids
to quietus.
The supple souls,
seasoned spirits,
and their ominous farewell,
Soil of Sirhind,
(fortunate enough
that such pious feet
walked on it
and regrettably unfortunate
to have become their deathbed) ,
witnessed
what we dare not dream.
Unwavering, unflinching,
unswerving and unyielding,
subtle yet strong,
the fledglings of falcon.
embraced their pallbearers
with smiles on their faces.
And this is their legacy.
They were bricked alive.
But they never died.
And never can they.

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Rakshabandhan special

A twisted affair,
such knotted, entangled bonds,
love and spats criss-crossed.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly#Haiku #poetry prompt#Challenge 

Fast lane

Though flawed, yet stunning,
the sunkissed-memory lane,
too much and too fast.


Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly#Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #255

Cousin connection

Casual outings,
unplanned dinners on the go,
the cousins connect.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Blithesome birds

Their buoyant spirits,
Cousins by chance, friends by choice
Merry blithesome birds.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

The scent of yesterdays

Hey mason!

When you renovate my house,

make sure you leave intact

the imprints of tiny little feet

running in these corridors

Hey painter!

When you paint these walls,

make sure you don't rub out

the doodling stains

scrawled by tiny hands.

Hey carpenter!

When you mold the wood

and carve me doors and windows,

make sure you seal inside

the ringing unripened laughters.

For when I walk pass these,

these corridors,

these doors and windows,

these caricatures,

I can inhale the scents of

yesterdays

of my children

(now working in the valleys yonder),

and their childhood,

fresh and incorrupted.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Yesterdays that swayed

By the empty swing,
I come searching my childhood,
Foretimes that swayed free.

Linking with Haiku Horizons : Swing

Lilting taste of childhood

Lilting taste of childhood on my tongue,
delicacies doled out by your hearth,
wounded knees running down the streets,
unburdened shoulders practicing at chin-up bars,
careless giggles at petty nothings,
unfinished home works and unlearnt chapters,
splashing in puddles and running after kites,
catching fireflies and winning paperboat races,
having you pick up after me,
my knee high socks, belts, ties and toys,
strewn all over the carpeted floors,
bedside stories ringing with love,
melodic harmonies lulling me to sleep,
words of wisdom leading me to light,
your hurrying me to reach school on time,
scolding me for my errant ways,
smothering me with loving embraces.
Lilting taste of childhood in everything
and though I had my fair share,
yet it seems like
I have not had enough of it.

Stars in his eyes

Beyond the rainbows,
Lie fluffy castles of clouds,
Where stars dwell, my child.

The child reverent,
Of this infinite stardom
And magic it weaves.

Stars in his small eyes,
Cosmos conspires in favor
Of the faithful child.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #82 Star & Child

That's me, knocking at the door

I peeked in her thoughts
Where my room was taking shape.
Prams and cots and disney wallpapers.
Sometimes she planned it blue,
Sometimes a lovely shade of pink.
Occasionally I would hear her sing lullabies,
Rehearsing for impending sleepless nights.
Hear them both find  me a name,
I really loved some, but there's no way I can tell.
They build me a home in their hearts
And I bask in the glory of their love.
The riotous joy that I am,
I laugh at their planning things post my arrival,
Little do they know, I will mess it all.
And on weekends, I find them shopping
Feeders, diapers and clothes,
Their faces aglow with sheer happiness.
A little bundle draped in a pink sheet,
I enter their lives,
Expanding their horizon manifolds.
My mother crying in pain and then in pleasure.
My father looking at me with sheer joy.
Seamlessly, we blend in one embrace,
A happy little family.

P is for ... Piggybank

I shake my fading piggybank
and in the rattle of spare coins
my childhood jingles.
Penny by penny,
we built a happy account,
ringing with love and laughter.
The idea of collecting
scrapes of cheer
has long faded.
And piggybanks now run dry.
Occasionally, my nephews
spill the one I had
and happy moments roll out.
Amidst the singing of coins,
we share a tale or two.

Peeping past

The sidewalks littered
With innocent footsteps
Outrunning each other
To find the best hiding place.
The IT counting till hundred
Occasionally peeping across
And seeing the silhouettes
Sliding behind the cobwebbed niches.
The pretence of
Making the search
Calling out,
Winning, loosing,
Playing and replaying
The childhood laughing
And celebrating
The festival of life,
Thoroughly.
The spectres of
Good old days
Peeping now and then
Only to find
The ruckus of tiddlers
Silenced
By shadows of youth
Wandering through this labyrinth
Confounded,
Blinded by dimes and dollars.
Fractured bodies
Supplanted by
Fractured souls.
Life left behind
In
Unfrequented dusty alleys.

Image by Bill Brandt, 1934

Linking with Light and Shade Challenge

Recess by Beas

Our hands brushed,

Accidentally, of course,

By the banks of Beas,

Plastering

The walls of our castle

With soggy silver sparkles.

My clumsy patches

Smoothened

With your finesse.

Day-by-day,

Our tiny hands

Moulding our dreams,

Aiming

Higher, loftier, stronger,

Occasionally ornate, too.

And then the chase

To the classroom

Where we would

Sit alongside

And learn

The impressive

Array of facts.

We would return,

Each day,

Only to find

Our caresses, corroded

And

Our footprints, ironed

By the eventide.

But that didn't deter us.

Ever.

Sometimes,

I wonder if you remember

Those recesses by Beas,

Or is it just me.

This week's photo prompt is provided by Sonya with the blog, Only 100 Words. 

Linking with Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

K is for ... Kites

Rhombic paper-mache of dreams
Dancing aloft in wind currents.
Undulating in the infinity.
Conquering the crested iris.
A distant silhouette
Tasting the skies,
Inspiring to look
Further and higher.
Tangled reins
Locked in trance.
Behold! Their rhythm,
Ceaselessly goading.
The unruly stringless wanderer
Scaling the silver skylines.
Skilled hands mastering
The string, now loose, now taut,
Willing it in to a smooth glide,
Urging and encouraging the flight.
Wide-eyed innocence
Mesmerized,
Their young beating heart,
Reaching for stars,
Untiringly, chasing the kites.

Linking with :Alphabet Salad

J is for ... Jokes

Cackling chaos. Jokes

Rattling in tiny footfalls.

Withered souls, blooming.

Melting at innocence

My last tele-conversation with Laddu*** happened in May.
The five year old nuisance has been pretending to be too busy running in the unpaved alleys between his house and ours, ferrying his Hotwheels collection alongside.
So today was a definite surprise.
An innocent hello of fresh-from-sleep chirpy nephew was last thing I expected to hear when I called mom.
"We have come over to stay for a few days.
Am sleeping in your room".
Is Noddy there, too? I ask.
"Yes, and ..."
"And who else"?
"Your Laddu!" pat came the reply.
I melted.
He kept up his naive yabber.


***Laddu is an Indian sweet and because my nephew loves eating Laddus, he is our Laddu, fondly.

Linking with Friday Fictioneers

The blade of time

She was tall for her age. Lanky. Bony. And Spartan. She had that don’t mess with me permanence pasted on her face, even in her early years. Odette was not easy to be with. And Odette was not popular. Not ever since she had been reported in pre-school for mauling a boy thrice her size. He had devoured her lunch secretly before lunch hours.

Odette was counseled and reded before being re-admitted. All she had understood was that if she did not fall in line with others, she would be outcast. The doors of knowledge would close on her, perhaps forever. More than anything else, she dreaded that darkness. And then one of the teachers fed her with some story about the infamous crocodile well in the old compound. The unwieldy Odette yielded to the stifling discipline of school. It could be the fear of ending up being a nescient and ignorant or the fear of being fed to crocodiles. But somehow she managed to stay out of trouble, deporting with modest reserve in school hours. Though, at home, she was wild and untamed, engaging in ruckus and rumpus with her younger brother Dariel, all the time.

Gradually, it was like wake up and smell the routine.

Until that summer afternoon.

It was her class for numerals. She had mastered 1 to 5 in an unclear hand. She stood in the queue to get her sheet appraised. There were some 5 students in front of her. The line was moving at snail-pace.

4 students to go.

3. Ah! They were almost there.

2. Soon now!

The teacher started scolding the boy, twisting his ear and shoving him out of the classroom. Perhaps taking him to the principal’s office. But they had not been excused. So, she waited in the queue.

After a few minutes, Dariel rushed in. Scared. Panicky. Looking over his shoulder again and again. There was an unmistakable red blush on his face. A handprint. He hugged her tight and sobbed into her embrace.

Who was it, Dariel?

Norman.

Norman was year older than her. A confirmed browbeat. And Dariel was just a kid. Odette took a deep breath.

You stand here. My teacher is going to come anytime. You show her my classwork and tell her that I had to go out to talk to Norman, Okay? And don’t you cry. I will be back soon.

Odette handed over her notebook to Dariel who watched her disappear out of the classroom door, still sobbing and wiping his face with the cuff of his shirt.

Odette found Norman near the drinking-water facility.

Norman, she called out. Her voice stern and severe.

She could not wait to talk and reason. She had to do it fast and quick. So, she lifted her hand and slapped him on his face, loosely but forcefully. Her bony hand stinging and blushing by the impact. Her handprint distinct on Norman’s face.

She turned back almost instantly, expecting Norman to hit her from behind. But all she heard was loud shouts. Some commotion happening in the background. She did not look back. She had to reach the safety of her classroom.

Norman’s accusation was faster than her footsteps. She was detained in the corridor by his class teacher. Taken to the principal’s office. She accepted having slapped Norman. She did not volunteer the fact that he had slapped Dariel to begin with. She was suspended. For a week.

Her mother was surprised to see her home early.

Home already? Where’s Dariel?

He is getting my classwork examined … and I … I don’t have to go to school for rest of the week.

Her mother looked up from the sink, the soapy scrubber in her hands, the detergent dripping on the dishes in the sink, and water from the faucet running waste.

…

The water from the faucet was running waste. The detergent dripped on the dishes in the sink. She looked out of the windowsill, a soapy scrubber in her hands. Odette choked back the trees.

She had asked Dariel to help her convince dad about her boyfriend. There were too many barriers between the families and she was fighting alone. Dariel had simply shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

What can I possibly say in the matter, Odette. It’s between you and dad.

The match was never approved.

Hey, where’s your brother? Have to send him to market.

Left him in the classroom, haven’t seen him since.

Odette barged out of kitchen.