Baskets of summer!

Some memories stay with us like seashells tucked away in a basket—small, delicate, yet carrying the vastness of an entire ocean. Baskets of Summer is a reflection of a cherished childhood moment, collecting seashells with my sister on a sunlit beach. Each shell held a story, a wave, a whisper of the sea, and as we brought them home, we unknowingly carried the warmth of summer and the rhythm of the tides with us. This haiku captures that fleeting yet timeless joy—the beauty of simple moments that, like the ocean, remain within us long after they pass.

Seashells on the beach. 

Summers gathered in baskets, 

the ocean brought home.

Linking with Crimson's Creative Challenge 017

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Labor of love

More often than not,

we call up our fathers

asking whereabouts of our mothers.

Some like me, end up seeking advice 

for sorting our professional messes. 

That's about it.

The depth of our conversations

with our sires.

Stammered, hesitant splutters.

Not knowing where to start

and what to talk about.

Silent acceptance of his role. 

An unspoken understanding. 

Somewhere in the labor of steering

the family, 

fathers become that strict, sidelined

non-indulging parent,

nurturing dutifully. 

But 'neath that tough, 

difficult facade, 

he is brimming with love. 

Gallons and gallons of love.

Strengthening us.

To face the struggles of survival. 

Happy father's day

June 13, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about fathers in general, or a specific father. You can use different names — Papa, Daddy, Fabio. What is significant about a father? Write an homage, rant, comedy, tragedy, or anything in between. Go where the prompt leads!

Linking with June 13: Story Challenge in 99-words

#99wordstories #carrotranch

Welfare unto all 

Rab rakha 

Father's day

Fragrant dreams in our eyes,
that bear the scent,
of your sweat and sacrifice,
and that unmistakable
gleam of pride,
in your moist eyes,
as we fly.
Fledglings of your nest,
we are because you are.

Happy Father's day

Welfare unto all
Rab rakha 🤗 🤗 🤗 

For Ma

Our identities,
your reflections, in bitparts.
Proudly, your daughters.

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

Essence of Diwali

Exuberance in the air, 
that come what may attitude, 
the warmth, cozy vibes of love, 
heavenly perfume of home, 
little lamps light up fresh hopes, 
this, essence of Diwali.

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 

Song birds

Delicate ties of fragile thread,
running deep, profound.
Birds from flock,
defined by feathers, flights and songs,
bonded by blood, wired by sacraments,
we grow.
We change. We drift. We wander.
We stay. Rooted. Connected. Enduring. Surviving.
The knot secure but loose,
allowing enough space
to hold “me” and "mine” together.
The elements of zodiac,
the air, earth, water and fire,
so distinct and yet so dependent.
And like the constants of linear equations,
we reside in hearts.
Consistently. Continuously.
Subtle whispers,
slightest ripples
are enough
to stir us for each other.
For we are all but
large parts of one another.

Linking  with Thin Spiral Notebook :100 words

And Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt 

Home-coming

The lush greens,
the darks, the lights, the mediums, the browns,
blending in perfect proportions,
washed,
rather bathed and cleansed with rain,
dancing and swaying merrily
in refreshing cool breeze,
hailing, heralding,
extending that embalming hug.
The glacial bite seeping through pores,
reviving the parched soul.
Thirst quenching.
Oh! It had been a while.
But, what a welcome?
The hills are happy.
The daughter is home.

Linking with Sammi Cox Weekend Writing Prompt #110 Glacial

Marriageable

Mother's pride, dad's love, 
magnificent bride to be, 
jewel at altar.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Kinsmen

Keen ties of kindred,
knitted blood knots that run deep,
kinsfolk and our tribe.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Friends

Friends forevermore
festive fervour in the air, 
our extended tribe.

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Cousin connection

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

Linking with Blogging from A to Z April Challenge 

Fumbling

Fumbling steps,
steadied by your finger,
balance of life literally wrapped around it.
My tomorrows all assured.
It was only yesterday.
Seemingly so.
Though it has been good two decades.
Er.. Slightly more than that.
Today, I stand, unfaltering,
in pink blush of bride-to-be.
My steps are steadier now,
after years and years of running around you.
But as the future stares at me,
deep within,
I crave the envelope
of that one finger of yours.
The surety it promised.
The confidence it inspired.
Today, I wish
I could go back in time
and fumble my steps all over again.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 words : Pink

Familial-fun

From parents’ laps
to holding di’s hand,
and having fun with cousins,
I brought the entire trivia with me.
While you all were busy packing
my “trousseau”,
I was stuffing my heart
with our shenanigans .
And when it was time to say good bye,
I trusted myself totally to
the power and prayers of
the blood bonds, the “rakhi” bonds,
the friendship bonds,
and crossed the threshold.
One lifetime with you all
is so insufficient.
Distant now, ever in my heart,
I miss you all.
I literally order
the gathering clouds
and whispering winds,
to shower my hugs. Daily.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100-WORD-CHALLENGE- FUN

Monsoon cooking

Familiar fragrances
of the traditional monsoon platter
waft in the air.
The rain washes my grown-up heart,
breathing life
in the pores of my skin and soul.
“Do you know how to cook this?”
I nod in negative.
And there begin my lessons:
A dash of this, a pinch of that.
Some grilling. Some flipping.
Some abracadabra mom special magic.
Recipe, perfect in every way.
As I gorge upon the second helping greedily,
I wonder if I can master it. Ever.
I tell her I’ll need more lessons
but first
I rush out to greet
the fresh bout of rain.

Linking with 100 word challenge : Cook : Thin Spiral Notebook

Growing up

He made me see his presentation.
And boy! I was so amazed
with the use of animations and effects.
Some presentation.
One look at him, one at his project.
My eyes watered.
There was time when he used to sit in my lap
and learn paint.
Today I felt I could learn PowerPoint from him.
Earlier in the day too, he had surprised me.
I had asked him for a glass of water.
Not finding any unused glass in rack,
he washed the used ones.
Four of them. One for each person in the room.
One bottle of water.
Balanced the glasses on the bottle strategically.
And smilingly, he served us all.
My heart swelled with pride.
They do grow up fast.
Don’t they?

Yesterday night, he slept

Late again.
But her colleagues knew the reason.
So they did not seek explanations.
A middle aged woman,
experienced both in life and workplace,
stood at crossroads.
This was the least the office could do.
The patriarch of her family
had been admitted in semi-coma condition last month.
Only last week the doctors had sent them home.
“The hospital has done what it could do”.
It was prayer and serving and support now.
Prayers and life support machine.
Alive.
His heart beating, eyes blinking
blood flowing in the veins,
if it is called living.
Yesterday we exchanged a word with her.
“We are waiting, someday now he will ask of us,
He will wish for his favourite food,
He will recognize us”.
Yesterday night he slept.
And never woke up.
Today she was on leave.
Will be for a few days.
We observed a two minute silence dutifully
and proceeded with the day.
But my thoughts keep drifting
to that kid in her
who was waiting for her father to get well soon.

Your voice heals

Ma! Papa!
Ablaze with fever,
like I am being cooked all over.
Yeah! I took the medicine
and made myself,
a light nutritious meal
but it doesn't taste half as good
as the palate you serve,
even with those mysterious
sour home remedies,
tonics and potions,
though bitter but far more effective.
More than that, your voice,
that heals me inside out,
an assurance,
that renews my soul and spirit.
And the comfort of
laying my head in your lap
listening to melodious chanting,
prayers to ward off all evils.
And of course,
falling asleep in your arms,
knowing that all will be
miraculously mended,
cured and made whole.
But there are miles that separate us
and for the time being,
I have to make do with your phone call
and knowledge that
I am in your prayers.
Ah! If only I were home
in your lap,
your hands stroking my forehead,
your soothing voice lulling me to sleep.
If only, I were not burning with fever ...

Linking with Five Minute Friday : Heal

Visit by ma

I was at page 214
when I succumbed to slumbers.
For the umpteenth time.
Unknowingly. Automatically.
The edges of my spectacles
digging painfully under my eyes.
Wincing, I woke up.
Bright white light overhead,
an open book beneath.
Ma used to visit my bedroom silently,
closing my books,
removing my glasses,
turning off the lights
and running her hands through my hair.
Then, I left home.
To make something of my life.
While 14 years later,
I am not sure if I succeeded,
I definitely miss those silent visits.
Grudgingly, I let sleep over power me.
Emotions, however, can wait.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 words: emotion