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.

We all have a story

Letters!
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
Sweet,
Pricey,
Sealed carton story,
Being sold to scrapdealer,
With quivering hands.

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'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 ...

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

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

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

Lost but found

So, I stared,

Too long,

That

She looked up.

And

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'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 ...

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.

Courtesy : Picture it and write ...

Linking with Picture it and write

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

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

A tryst

Somber infinities

Versus

Legions of

Sempiternal

Blest,

Beatified

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.

Or

Live with wasted souls.

Either ways, we lose.

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.

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.
Winters,
It is time for me to be home.

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Dear

Ineluctably falling

It would be a head-long fall.

Treacherous,

Precarious,

Unruly dive,

In

Ring of fire.

With

Gravity deluding,

And flames rising

Higher,

My best bet

Would be to

Fall.

Without looking back.

Toppling dominoes,

Shifting sands,

Yielding heart.

An unwavering

Leap of faith.

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 ...

Bubble bursts

The silence hurts.
Her silence hurts.
It is in silence that her absence becomes more acute.
It is in silence that her not being around is sealed.
For a year now, I have gone by the thought that she is visiting Ludhiana.
Hence the absence.
Hence the silence.
Hence the not being there.
The trick works. Often it does.
But some days, the reality is overpowering.
On those days, the reality bites and stings.
On those days, I cannot silence the thought that she is gone. Forever.
Try as hard as we might, she is not coming back.
And her silence is all we have got now.
I haven't gathered the courage to enter her room. Not yet.
And when I do, I am still not able to look up at her picture. I barely steal a glance and I have to look away.
I look up at unknown faces, complete strangers, who are probably grandmothers to unknown kids, and my eyes moisten.
Tears well up and dry.
In some unseen depths, I cry and roar.
Muffle screams that I miss her.
Outwards, I throw a pretence of composure and walk on.
Praying all the while.
Gran, rest in peace, return if possible.

Puerility

Once upon a time,

We used to talk in jumbles,

And stumble on our tiny little feet,

Listen with rapt attention,

The unbelievable tales

Of fairies and ghosts,

Imagine, believe and dream.

And then we grew up.

And the summer of childhood

Became a misty haze,

Blanketed by

Worries of earning and eating.

The dreams turned to dust.

Feet found their place.

Slowly the labyrinth of life

Consumed us,

And devoid of our spirit,

We march towards oblivion.

The undammed rivers,

Controlled and constricted.

Bare feet hop-skipping,

Consume me.

As do the

Christmas expectations

In hushed whispers,

And interspersed giggles.

Linking up with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : jumble

This is a blog hop:

Racing against ... ?

The rubbers gripping

The steel grey

Asphalt,

Hands clenched at

The steering wheels,

Humming motors

Queued up

Till the horizon,

Horns blaring,

Jarring the

Tattered remnants of

Shredded peace.

And amidst this pandemonium,

Another set of claws

Slows, screeches;

The vernal biker

Intoxicated

By the power of his beast-ride,

Raring

To define his domain,

Discounting the

Decrees of road,

Crisscrosses the embrangle;

The grey labyrinth soon

Devours him.

And while

The ominous siren

Of ambulance clangors callously,

Enduring the

Congestion dutifully,

The crimson splashes dry out.

Undeterred bedlam

Accompanies

The dusk.

The subtraction

Insignificant.

Compulsory obituary

Wilts in some scrapbook.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Claws

 This is a blog hop:

Scramblings : Turn

Avli, I am standing near the JLN metro station. Trying to read the google navigator’s rights and lefts.  I realize that I am either directionally or technologically challenged. So, I am about to leave myself to the mercy of a rickety auto rickshaw. It is some 3 minutes drive to the place and I promise, all my senses will be working overtime. After all, safety saves.

Remember our little sojourn to the Advanced Studies, Avli. When the grandeur had come in full view, I had literally drooled over it with open mouth. Savoured the splendor with eyes. You, Avli, had laughed so hard.

Well, you could reply the laugh today for I am standing exactly in same pose.

And now that I realize how utterly ridiculous and wildly ludicrous I look, I try to reign in my greedy side. Like I have never been to some place like this ever before.

Alright, excitement checked. I move on. Exploring the ruins. Relishing the surrounding greens. The evening sun and early November air doing full justice to the aura and ambience of place. A photo here, a selfie there. I am totally engrossed.

History is a symphony of echoes heard and unheard. It is a poem with events as verses.

Charles Angoff

With the evening growing, it is getting a little inconvenient for me to tread these brick red trails.

However, the curiosity gets better of me. I still want to explore the remnants.

I don’t feel like leaving the place.

There is an inexplicable gravity. Some force that makes me stay.

I should but I can’t get myself moving back. The sun has set on the place, and the hush is falling on the place with intensity.

The guards have started to come in now. They are hustling the people out. It is time now for the sanctum to retreat to its privacy.

Why am I hesitating, Avli?

Why am I not moving?

What is it?

“Will you be kind enough to take the exit to your right, Mam?”

Wait, I know this voice.

Avli, I know this voice.

I turn back but it is so dark, I can barely see things.

It takes a time to adjust to the blindness.

I hear the voice again.

Gentle but urgent. Insistent with a force. Hypnotizing.

I am lured to it. Mesmerized.

I make out his silhouette. Talking to tourists.

The man has an imposing presence for a guard.

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Turn
Excerpts from NaNoWriMo Challenge : Sombre Sojourn

Monday's measly minutes #3

Avli,

The cockcrow has brought good tidings.

And it is surprising how small things make a huge difference to the otherwise mundane and routine life.

Yes, it has been a most ordinary life. Like anybody else’s or perhaps everybody else’s. But we do not stop living it because it is ordinary. We try to find meaning in littlest of joys and we want to do away with tiniest of sorrows. Everybody strives to live. And same goes for me too.

To sum it all up, I was born a few years ago to the most loving family. I grew up, went to school and then to college. From a nestling to a bird – right before your eyes. I did what every child, teenager and young adult did at relevant times.

Routine life. Family. Eight-to-three friendships. Growing up. Job. And that's just about it.

Awesome so far.

There’s pleasure in being reminded of the value of ordinary life.

Karen Thompson Walker

But sometimes extraordinary does happen. And that transforms the taste of living. Like a dash of pepper and salt to the bland curd.

Something of the sorts has happened.

Avli … Avli … O Avli …

I wrote this on Monday ... yes, I did fit in my 10 measly minutes but never got time to update it.

Anyways, I am experimenting with NaNoWriMo challenge and this is a part of the story, if there is one.

Scramblings : Dewy

Dewy grass tickles underneath my feet. Morning silence is interspersed with chirping of birds. The misty curtains are rising. Living begins again.

While the night had bathed the place in regal attires, the morning intensifies the imperial splendor.

The night was cold. Or maybe I was numb. Perhaps sweating. Possibly shivering. But, definitely disquieting.

The visions from the late evening kept replaying. Like a video on “repeat current” mode. The stop button was stuck.

What had happened there, Avli? And where on the earth, was my phone?

I am sure that guard knew about it. Liar.

Correction read, stately guard.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Dewy

Excerpt from the NaNoWriMo challenge : Sombre Sojourn

For Love

The beacon of
Unwavering luminosity
Claws and scrapes
At dark night,
Ripping it apart,
Devouring the pieces
Like a savage, ruthless beast.
Untamed and livid,
The night falls again,
Only to leave in shreds.
The joy in her heart bold,
The dawn celebrates
The victory.
Of light within.
Of beauty over beast.
Of day over night.
Until dusk
And then
Complement and complete.
Such is their love.
All lines are blurred,
Hazy mists of dawn and dusk,
Transcending boundaries.
And such is their love.
When the beast turns human,
The beauty,
An illusive beast.
And,
Such love is not sin.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Beast

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Leave

Monday's measly minutes #2

Ten minutes on a busy Monday and my mind travelled back to home. My second week of Monday musings for today borders heavily on my hometown love.

Dear Monday,
I was in heaven for last few days.
That is what home feels to me these days.
Most of my conscious life has been spent away from the place but deep down i am still a girl from a hilly hamlet. Rooted to the smallest dot on the huge map of landscapes.
Far away from the clutter of ever evolving technology driven savvy human beings.
People here know each other by name, by face, by parentage and by everything that defines being human.
People are still concerned, definitely nosy and snoopy about the affairs of society at large. Seemingly, the concept of societal welfare was born here. That the term welfare is relative and far-fetched is a separate matter of course.
So smallest event becomes a breaking news spreading faster than fire.
Smallest joys become events of lifetime.
A Dominos in the town is a thing of prestige.
So is the accredited Archies store.
Such is my town.
Simple but not simpleton.
And this is where my heart lies.
The moment the bus begins traversing the meandering tracks of hills, my smile widens, ear to ear. The lush greens, the fresh air with a chill to it, the perennial waters flowing nonchalantly. They all make me fall in love with my hometown over and over again. I just can't seem to have enough of this heaven.
No matter what glamour and glitter these tinsel towns offer, read pizzas, donuts, tacos, PVRs etc., it is the two square meals and dilapidated theatre of my native that I crave.

Welfare unto all...

Echos of you

The ears ache for that voice,
That distinct accent of yours,
Only a reverberation now,
Difficult to replicate and repeat,
Eyes miss you at the doorstep,
Everytime,
Patiently waiting for hours
For my homely retreat,
Your mundane musings,
Constant and consistent,
Simple small things
That you would have loved,
Simple small things
When you should be around,
Simple small things
That widen the void,
Simple small things
That will never be same again.
Your rosary beads
Gleaming in the dark,
Your staff by the side of your bed,
Your things,
Untouched, unmoved.
Your lingering presence,
In the atoms of your room,
You are not just a picture on the wall,
You stay with us,
Obscured by the misty realms
Of the world beyond
Yet so conspicuous,
So very conspicuous.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Staff

Monday's measly minutes #1

This week I begin a new series. And I am going to call it
Monday's measly minutes
Every Monday we sweat it out at our workplaces and we are bombarded with deadlines and exigencies and issues and reports. And midst this professional clutter we forget to live and breathe our Mondays. Hence these Monday's measly minutes. Just ten minutes for something that I would love to do. Ten minutes of writing, ten minutes of flow, ten minutes for myself, ten minutes by myself and ten minutes after my own heart, ten minutes that I am determined to make worth of on a Monday. And we can all connect over these ten minutes ... Encourage ... Motivate ... Inspire and Admire.
I am going to pen my Monday diaries. To be able to share what the day has offered to me, my thoughts on titbits, hopes for the week ahead … basically anything and everything that comes to my mind .... And my reflections are going to be typed and brought unedited as they flow for ten minutes straight...

I guess the real challenge will be to find ten minutes on a Monday and if I can do this on the busiest day of the week, I guess I can do it on any other day as well …

So my measly minutes begin ...

Dear Monday,
You began with a start. I don’t remember when I put the alarm off rather than putting it on snooze and I wonder how long I would have been sleeping if not for that untimely what’s app message. And when the reality dawned the clock had started ticking in the reverse ... So a little but of this and little bit of that became hurried little bit of this and very hurried little bit of that ... By the time I hit the road to meet my colleague who picks me up for office  these days... Warm up and workout had been done ... I wonder why people have to fret over all this weight and workout plan when all they can do is rise up late every morning and rush to office ... Trust me it works the same way … or so it seems to me ... And while we are talking of workout, out I would like to share that I have  completed a virtual walk of Arches National Park yesterday clocking some 4km per hour and I hope to be able to sustain it this whole week which is very far fetched ... Not because I fear getting up late every morning but because its Diwali time here and Diwali means I will be busy ... Plus I will be going home ... To have that “Ghar wali Diwali”  ... Talking of which I am also reminded that I have yet to pack my bag and I have to put in all the stuff i got as Diwali gifts ... and that includes ... 

The office party return which was this pretty pink scented candle set

... I loved it so much ... I bought a similar one in lemon shade for folks back home ...

Then, one of the close friends at work has given me this ethnic earthen lamp set. Is not it simply awesome …

And I lost the lucky draw … so that’s that. 

As a side thought, there's  a new book on my shelf ... 

Well I think I am running out of time ... So everyone have a safe blessed sparkling glittery and prosperous Diwali ..

And Monday, I seriously hope I won’t dread you once we get to know one another better ...

May the odds be ever in your favour
and till we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand …

Welfare unto all …

Scramblings : Long

Long days have given way to long nights now. The dusk descends and the darkness envelopes in its folds. The dawn too is covered in a foggy misty blanket, thick and totally opaque. The extended summer has now finally given way to the sweetness of early winters. When smoked sweet potato, roasted corncob or american corn tempt the taste buds. A cup of coffee, a book in lap and a mild shawl wrapped loosely against the balmy chillness. Just sitting in the balcony in the rocking chair looking at the infinite panorama. I lack the nuisances of accomplished prose and poetry and thus fail to do proper justice to the many delights of winter ... But I crave the splintering winters, thick and numbing morning dew, swirling noon mist, rings of smoke amidst hushed whispers, words vaporizing in the mist, chimneys ablaze, fire in hearths and warmth in ...

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Long

Eventide of nostalgia

Sombre black nights
Of receding moon,
Deep darkness
Contrasted by the
Brilliant lights of civilization,
The nigrescent spread
Bejeweled with
Ruby crimsonness,
Complemented by the
Citrines, emeralds, sapphires,
Amethysts, opals and tourmalines,
The supernal happiness
Surrounding
All sentience.
While
The days are whiled away,
Easily,
In the clamor of files,
Undoing and redoing efforts,
Shielded
Behind the conjuring tricks
Of sunlight,
The twilight wears
The vermilion mask,
Turning into a perfect jester,
Eventide flawed with nostalgia,
Impeccably swathed in jocosity,
The dim dusk
Clothes itself in fragile mirth
Of lights, gifts, and celebrations.
Oh, and I long to be home.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Jester

Autumn winds of night

What do i care for the
Autumn winds of the night
For even when the last leaf hath fallen
And none remains to flutter in tandem
A green little twig,
An infantile promise remains,
Likewise, the whispers of dawn
Cradled in the lap of genial breezes.
Winds delight.

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Care

The evenings are bedight

Days blend into evenings sooner than expected.
Clocks mislead.
So by 6P.M., the cloak of dusk has already fallen over the urban camaraderie.
The bustling traffic looks like red and golden streaks against the dark backgrounds.
Ardent, ablaze, aflare and aroused.
The twilight is set alight by very many festive Chinese illuminations bedecked like brides on the four walls of skyscrapers, shopping malls, and houses.
After all, it is "the festive season" of India jam-packed with back to back celebrations, with barely breather days inbetween.
Despite the glowing LEDs, my evenings are always draped in black cafards. Bedight with melancholia.

Linking with:  Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Cloak

Billions busted

Dearest Flipkart,

We all know that the plan was huge.

It would have re-written the history of e-tail in some glittery and glossy chapters.

But it busted and ruptured mid-air.

All the image building and brand building has been brought to a near cipher.

The internet based social platforms are full of complaints and hurtful messages.

The damage has been done.

And the questions galore.

Both on the survival and modus-operandi of the e-tail.

As far as I am concerned, I believe it is ok to dream big, falter, gather ourselves up again and fight back.

Nothing wrong.

But in the process, do not play with the trust of we, the distant customers.

Don’t mess up our orders simply because we are not there right before your face, checking the size, color and stuff you are packaging for us. Do not mislead us with your pricing strategy if it is unjustified because we are relying on your brand name and not comparing the prices. Do not promise what cannot be delivered rather than giving us dreamy eyes and cervical pains.

This will fallback not only on you but on the entire e-tail industry.

So next time if you do not have something that we want, politely refuse.

It will earn you more credit than sending flip flops in place of sport shoes and replacing Nike with Puma or cancelling an order after processing all the payment steps.

We all want e-tail to stay and I am personally very impressed by the way you guys have come to influence our lives. I am pretty sure there are others too out there who believe in this industry and its future.

Our faith in you is not a play thing.

So make us an offer we can’t refuse. But like people with good character and justified means, keep up to those promises.

Go as far as you can see and when you get there, see further and move ahead.

Sincerely,

A well-wisher.

All in Mom's day

It’s a holiday.

Only not for her.

The house is

Spick-and-span.

There is fresh dinner

On the table.

The laundry is also done.

Not to forget the now mollified tantrums of grandsons.

Finally, I sleep to the honeyed sound of her lullaby.

Scramblings for "new"

New is what is beyond the
known realms
and new is
what we do not know yet.
But new attracts.
And,
New fascinates.
Be it a new addition to your wardrobe,
To the accessories in the closet,
New satchel,
New books,
New class,
New anything.
New has always promised
An inexplicable joy.
Formidable yet encouraging.
Like testing waters with caution,
Yet forging ahead.
New beckons.
New begins.
New ends.
New is celebration of life.
Every breath is new.
Every thought is new.
Every single eye blink reveals new.
Every sunrise is new.
And every sunset
Is different from the previous.
New is the rule of survival.
New maketh the plasma of living.
The scramble of words,
Cannot put together what new means
And why new matters.
It can only cement
That new is the only law
That works
Without calling for amendments.




Linking up with Five Minute Friday : New

Evenfall

The day's done.
The birds,
who had flown out
for food and fodder,
at the break of dawn,
are now returning
back to their nests,
warmed with autumn foliage.
Hungry fledglings
awaiting anxiously,
the moist crumbs
of love,
the warmth of
stories,
the snug laughter.
The winged tinies,
tucked in,
the blanket,
the neatly woven yarn of
twigs and sprigs,
safe and secure.
Their little hearts yearning to
spread the wings,
dreams contained
only by that lofty perch.
A cackle at the sight of dawn,
and they take to the skies again,
sunlit and raw.
An endless flight.
An elixir.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : secure

Thursday table cost

His business suit,
A little crumpled.
What with day's deadlines?
Still on time.
For an early dinner
And
The ring.
All nerves.
And all butterflies.
But she walked in,
Hand-in-hand,
With black coat and black tie.
Thursday table cost?
A broken heart.

Residual thought

Because this life is all but
Atoms of carbon and hydrogen
Woven creatively,
And working through
Intricate mesh of chemical reactions,
Releasing and absorbing energy
In a synchronized manner.
A huge complicated atomic cluster
Put together
For an infinitesimally
Small moment.
A couple of breaths.
The rise and fall of chest.
Beyond that?
Zilch.
Zero.
Cipher.
And nix as it may be,
It is this rhythm,
Now rising now falling,
That determines
Our stay here.
Because
It is this
Movement of diaphragm alone
That matters
To those who know the trade of medicine ...

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Because

Introspection

So I sit again,
In pleasant morning air,
Ready to inspect
The wasted soul,
To make sense of
My time and
My journey here,
To set the red hollow
In tandem with
The grey matter.
But
The light eludes.
All I feel is
The echo
Of the day
And its clutter,
Smothered thoughts
And
Muffled words.
Thousands waves
Rip through
My veins.
The silence lures
But evades.
The session ends
Abruptly.
Things look
Much the same
But yonder.
And slowly,
The day unfolds.
With the
Cantankerous clamour,
Pregnant with
Possibilities and plausibilities,
Returning.
Mechanic motions
Assure breathing
Whither living?
Unanswered.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Inspect

The black veil

The veil of the black night

Does not inconvenience me.

I am not scared of

What conspires beneath the

Dark envelope.

But.

It is the shadows

Lurking in the

Sleepy squares

And quiet corners

That unsettle me.

The murmurs of the night,

The susurrations,

Of course!

Unintelligible.

The mysteries

Of the sunlight hours

Come to

Plague the hours of darkness.

The hushed conspiracies

Stirring up

In

The buzz of katydid

Echoing

In the silent hours.

The unfathomable

Comes to haunt.

And yet intrigues.

Conscious of

Every single footstep,

Black-eyes on prowl,

Ominous rumblings,

The fascinations tempt

And

Finally

Undo me.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Black

And

It is a blog hop:

Ready ... Not yet ...

Ready.
Not yet.
So basically
I will be
Making an effort
To make sense out of
Hurried words
Put together.
Hopefully
Something comprehensive
Will be weaved.
Though chances look bleak.
But as they say
Effort counts.
But I am not sure
If I should write about goodbyes
Or good mornings.
About not being ready to say goodbye
To promises whispered
Under the stary skies
Or being ready to face new beginnings
In the golden tint of sun.
I don't know if reverberating silence
Will inspire me
Or ...

Linking with Five Minute Friday: Ready

Lost to quest

The hushed beating of
Lilting desires.
The twilight crawling
With
Muted footfalls.
And beneath the
Darkening skies,
The blank canvas
Coming alive with
The fond caresses.
Now,
Its just cold rain
And shivers running down the spine.
When the silence surrounds,
The rhythm
Of yearnings resonates,
Warm embraces
Linger in the air,
And
The verbosity,
And the suppressed
Hang heavy.
In the quest
To become whole,
I lost myself
Like the
Frigid foaming waves,
Rolling, crashing
And
Breaking at shores.
Over and over again.
The wounds still bleed,
Low,
Dim moans escape.
And dreams
Are occasionally
Splashed
With passionate undertones.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Quest

Memoir

The loud whispers
Over the
Shunting clamour,
The blurred landscapes,
The varied hues,
From dusty browns
To lush greens
To brick rusts
And concrete greys
The timelessness of acres
Mixed with
The bustling kilometers
Far and few,
The unsophisticated amiability,
The numerous tales unfolding
Over
The sparkling speed of wheels,
Some journeys
Cherished for their ends
And
Some for the story they weave.

Linking with Five minute Friday : Whisper

Extraordinaire

Busy Tuesday morning at crossroad. A familiar but unintelligible grumble drowned in the blaring horns. A mini traffic jam. Struggling cars. Unspared revilements. Scared, rooted, numb. The mind busy working its way out. The gruff voice again. This time closer. Instinctively I look up. And there he was. Balancing himself strategically on his crutches. His speech totally incomprehensible. He stood right in the middle, muttering, risking life and causing bedlam. Till I looked up. Gestured if I am fine. I smiled and nodded. And he moved on. Totally oblivious to blaring cacophony behind him. It had been a few days.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Gruff

A piece out of ordinary

She blended in the
Metro milieu,
Eerily busy,
And
Always scurrying to
Meet deadlines.
Her civilian steps scuttled
Behind the
Black-and-white.
Shoulders ached
Under the handbag.
Reaching before time,
Settled herself
In last seat of last row
Of Room 324,
To escape the
Judge's sight.
A middle aged lady,
Soundlessly
Cleaning her nails
With an all-pin,
A man filling
Soon-to-be-drained
Water-bottles,
Two others
Discussing trivia,
Yet another
Busying himself
Behind the computer,
All of them,
Living
The best day of their lives.
Then the banter faded.
All rise.
The room turned
Into
An arena
And
The battle
For truth
Began.

Linking with 100 word song: American Authors: Best day of our lives

Linking with Velvet Verbosity: 100 words: Faded

The Deficit Oftenness

The dry lands,

All caked up,

Bare patches,

Brittle and barren,

Their unbroken askant gaze,

Unrewarded,

Yellow skies unrelenting,

The clouds come and pass,

The grey tinge,

Deliberately playing

Hide and seek,

Parched throat,

Croaking hoarsely,

Not until next week.

Prayers rise.

Bloom visits us

START

Tiny feet
Tracing the terrace
In summer-scented evenings,
The familiar hankering
Dolloped
With mother's love,
The bruises,
The scratches,
The gush of breeze
On cycle-outings,
The homework,
Done, redone and undone,
The rush of growing up
In the shade of
Pink, blue, yellow, red, green,
Yes the bloom visits
Us every holiday season.

STOP

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Bloom

Creative capture

An advertisement made me go numb today. They have this KBC set up and a girl from north-eastern India is on the hot-seat. There's this off the television audience. They cover her family, anxious but obviously happy, the street boys who might have been whistling at her till yesterday, a brother type character and general north-east crowd in that 30-40 seconds run. Then they put across this question Kohima is part of which country? The girl goes for an audience poll. 100% say India. The host says everybody knows it. Then comes the clincher but how many feel it?
Goosebumps.

Linking with Velvet Verbosity : 100 words : Whistling

The Lady in Red

The lady in red,
Walked in,
Ethereal looks,
Prettiest Valentino ensemble,
Complemented
In finesse
With
Kate Spade stilettos
And Ferragamo clutch,
The beauty
Maquillaged
Down to the cuticles
With perfection,
Gorgeous all the way,
A head-turner,
All eyes rested on her,
Sighs from
Black suits,
Suspirations
Amongst the gowns,
An admiration
She swept off
With her smile,
Silently shuddering inside,
Hiding gracefully
The trembles
Of impending debility,
Wrinkled frame
With misshapen stoop,
Frail whispers
Which would be
Barely audible,
And fading vision.
Yes!
The applause
Would die
Some day.
The yearning hearts
Would
Find
Another
Lady in red
To admire.

Linking with 100 word song: Chris De Burgh - The Lady in Red

Thwarted at bloom

Enwombed,

But

She felt the trepidations,

Of being conceived,

Of lacking

The Y chromosomes.

She wouldn’t be

Welcomed,

Not even if the APGARs

Supported her

For

The amniotic fluids had

Turned hostile.

They had

Nipped off the bud.

The flower never bloomed.

Obscurity

Eyes bulging

From

Yet another

Insomniac

Starlit night

Spent

In

Fairytale anticipations

And

Honey toned dreams,

Inspired

By the crooning old transistor,

Diluted

And

Deliquesced

With the

Obscurity of

Pitch dark hours.

By the first light

The aching puffy eyes

And dark circles

Scream

For the

Obscure covers

So you

Walk out

And face

The morning

In coffee-toned hues,

Countersigning

The conspiracy

Gracefully,

Making repairs

With

The glamour of

Vintage colors

Proffered generously

By

The wayfarers,

Wasting

The beauty

Of the daylight

Behind

Those dark sunglasses,

Only

To bleed again

By

The twilight.

Please,

Shroud this night

Behind the shades.

Linking with 100 word song : Dark Sunglasses

Linking with Velvet verbosity : 100 words : Transistor : It is a blog hop!!!

Hushed

Name on tombstone

Or

Photo on wall.

Silent eulogies,

Verbalized

In daily loss.

Passive experience

Of a void,

Healing conscientiously

At its own pace.

Eventually,

Somebody will

Blow the dust off

Of the family-album

And share a story,

Or two,

Over coffee.

Good day charm

I get off

The crowded

Daily local

After struggling

With

Bodies and bags,

Jostling my way to front,

And then hopping down

Against the

Trickling speed of wheels.

I exhale

The sweat laden

Thick salty air.

One deep breath.

At that moment,

I can/will justify

All the hoopla

Behind

The fresh evening air.

I walk back

To

My room

Coming across

Familiar faces

Primarily because,

We share the same routine.

However,

There are

No acknowledgments.

Except for

One crippled man,

Balancing on crutches,

Waving out,

And

Muttering unintelligibly.

Like a good day charm,

I wait

To cross paths with him.

Linking with Ketchup with us

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Exhale

Birdcall

There's a song
In my heart
But
I am scared
To
Sing it
Lest
I miss the beat,
Fall out of rhythm,
And
Distort the melody.
The lyrics
On
Tip of my tongue,
The music,
Clear and loud,
Yet the song,
Unsung.
I don't even
Assay to shake off
The fear
Of
Critique and ratings.
I am silent.

There's a song
In your heart.
And you obviously struggle
To
Hold it back.
The notes
Straining against
The chords,
The effort
Enervating,
And you,
Hidden behind
Incomprehensible
Paragraphs of routine,
Definitely tuned out.
The forest
Seemingly silent
Without
Your birdcall.

Sing.

Linking with 100 word song: Sing by Travis

Linking with 100 words : Ratings : Velvet Verbosity: It is a Blog Hop !!!!

The mermaid call

Faint memory
Of
A honeyed voice,
Some syllables,
Mellifluously
Undulating,
An unintelligible
Concoction
Of whispers,
Propelling
To fathom
The abyssal depths,
Impelled
Like
A moth to a flame,
Besotted,
I offer myself
For
Sacrifice,
Swallowing salinity
In supplication,
Consummation
Purging
And
Sanctifying.

Hidin' my heart

Four flights of stairs.

By the time

I make it to my seat

I can barely breathe,

Stand,

And talk.

It takes

A while,

A precious

Little while,

To smile effortlessly

At colleagues.

Most of the mornings,

When I

Am running on

Time,

I follow this

 Oh I know,

I’m crazy

Routine,

Sweating it out

Just before

My work-hours,

When

My underweight frame

Can easily

Squeeze in

The oversized

Overcrowded

Lift

Running overtime,

And

This salt

And sweat,

This

Perspiration,

Earned

At the

Cost

Of

Being

Too lonely

For

Far too long,

Helps

Me hide

My heart,

One more time.

Linking with 100 word song : The Doobie Brothers : Keeps you runnin'