Your love is so generous

For your love is so generous,

that a simple dish

becomes delicacy in your hands.

And if I try and try,

the same recipe, the same method,

with the same ingredients

over and over again,

that special flavor goes missing.

The dish is complete

and yet so incomplete.

And I do not know

when you add that dollop of

special secret stuff

because I try and watch you all the time

but somehow I miss it every-time.

And it is not just food.

Its everything.

The way you iron my clothes,

the way you braid my hair,

the way you serve me milk,

the way you encourage me

to inch further … rise high and fly …

all things big and small,

you do it with that

“mother’s extra special touch”.

And for that no words of thank you suffice.

Linking with FMF Writing Prompt Link up : Generous

Maa

 You secretly tie all my problems

in the cornermost edge of your tippet.

Secured thus,

I luxuriate

in your shadows.

Your tippet must have grown heavy,

stretching, drooping from the side, 

where you secure all my concerns.

But I haven't seen you complaint.

Ever.

ਤੁਸੀਂ, ਚੁੱਪ ਚਪੀਤੇ, 

ਮੇਰੀਆਂ ਸਾਰੀਆਂ ਮੁਸ਼ਕਲਾਂ ਨੂੰ, 

ਆਪਣੇ ਚੁੰਨੀ ਦੇ ਕਿਨਾਰੇ ਵਿੱਚ ਬੰਨ੍ਹ ਦੇਂਦੇ ਹੋ। 

ਇਸ ਤਰ੍ਹਾਂ ਸੁਰੱਖਿਅਤ ਹੋ, 

ਮਹਿਫੂਜ਼ ਹੋ, 

ਮੈਂ, ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਪਰਛਾਵੇਂ ਵਿੱਚ, 

ਆਲੀਸ਼ਾਨ ਢੰਗ ਨਾਲ ਜੀ ਰਿਹਾ ਹਾਂ । 

ਤੁਹਾਡੀ ਚੁੰਨੀ ਭਾਰੀ ਹੋ ਗਈ ਹੋਣੀ, 

ਓਸ ਕੋਨੇ ਤੋਂ, 

ਜਿੱਥੇ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਮੇਰੀਆਂ ਸਾਰੀਆਂ ਫਿਕਰਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਬੰਨ੍ਹ ਲੈਂਦੇ ਹੋ, 

ਲਟਕਦੀ ਵੀ ਹੋਣੀ ਹੈ, 

ਜਾਂ ਫੈਲ ਗਈ ਹੋਣੀ । 

ਪਰ ਮੈਂ ਤੁਹਾਨੂੰ ਸ਼ਿਕਾਇਤ ਕਰਦੇ ਨਹੀਂ ਵੇਖਿਆ । 

ਕਦੇ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ।

Welfare unto all

Rab rakha

For Ma

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

Mom's magic

Aroma of curry leaves, 
cumin spluttering in oil, 
home fragrant with mom.

Linking with @baffled

Linking with Wordless Wednesday

Welfare unto all
Rab Rakha 

Navratri Day 2

The empty vessels,
bhakti fills us, drop by drop,
void is filled, made whole.

Jai Ma. Jai Jai Ma.

Linking with RonovanWrites #Weekly#Haiku #poetry 

Seeking semblance

Ma!
May I lie down
and
rest my tired soul
in your lap.
Here I am,
weary, wobbly,
washed out with fatigue.
Oh! lull me to sleep
so that
the chaos outside
ceases to be.
Will some order,
a bit of sanity,
in my life,
through your prayers.
And cook me a meal
(a great fan of yours)
of strength and love
for I need both
as it is dark outside
and though I can
fight the clouds,
the eclipse,
now that’s something
I can’t fight,
at least not alone.
So ma, help me heal
and
help me rise.
Again.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook :100 words : order

&

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook :100 words : fan

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

Homecoming

Every sundown,
he anxiously watches the dusty lane.
As her rickshaw halts,
he calls out to her, sonorously.
The intervening four flight of stairs,
notwithstanding,
she answers him back,
her exhilaration matching his excitement.
As she ascends,
he gives joyous halloos.
Thoroughly tempted,
he descends the last unlit stairway,
and engulfs her in tight crushing embrace.
The grouchiness of day dissolves
in the warmth of that
tender, lovesome rendezvous.
He literally drags her,
venting himself
until the mother and child
are lost to the privacy of their nest.
Today, I left the staircase well-lit,
lest the nipper trips in dark.

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 Words: Grouch

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

Day-begin

Deliberately she wipes the clothesline,
with a dusting cloth,
to remove the specks of dust that might have gathered
on the thin iron wires
drawn taut and tight between three angeled iron holders.
But sitting in my balcony and leafing through case file,
I sense her anxiety.
Her daughter has been standing at the corner of road,
for over 15 minutes now
and that rickety yellow school bus has not picked her up yet.
The girl's school bag is sagging with the weight of curriculum
and shoulders, perhaps with the weight of expectations.
She sneaks another look at her daughter,
her hands pausing for a moment
and then she returns inside,
probably to attend to her laundry,
only to come back in less than a minute
and peep again.
Her visit this time is synchronized
with a screeching halt of Tata Winger.
Her daughter boards the bus,
just as she hangs the first cloth to dry,
grey skirt from her daughter's school uniform.

Farewell

My mother is packing my bag,

because I am too lazy to do it myself,

and because I stack things in a horrifying manner,

and also because deep down she knows,

I am being dramatic;

That my postponing this exercise

will not change the fact

that I have to leave tonight.

My father is hovering around

hiding a green apple or two,

or maybe mandarins this time,

between the folds of my clothes,

our protests notwithstanding,

And I am staring at the

fluttering list of holidays.

All my bags packed,

I leave an important part of me behind – my heart.

Linking  with : Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 Word Challenge: List

Drowsy dreams

The tender envelop of mild breeze
at the borderline of
instant spring and impending summer,
sprawling spread of green hills,
serpentine dirt pavements woven around them,
sparkling sky, just the right shade of blue,
chirping birds and chattering monkeys,
broad daylight soaking my room
with quiescent tranquil repose,
drifting in and out of slumbers,
comprehending
the low hum of washing machine,
the whistling pressure cooker,
the sweeping susurrations of broom,
and "wake up" insistence of mother.
A shrill alarm dissipates the trickery.
Irritant of reality inflicts the oculus.
Drowsy dreams,
drunk on nostalgia, sigh heavily.
Astir, beneath a foreign roof.


Linking with: Thin Spiral Notebook: 100 word challenge: Dream

Savoury, all the way

There is something special,

About a mother's cooking.

Could be measured scoops

From some secret recipe,

Or extra dollops

Of love and care

That make it ambrosial.

But no master chef,

Anywhere on this cosmos,

Can serve a platter better than hers.