Jul 31, 2011

Love. Ordinary. Earthly.

Some loved me with their puberty pimples...

Some loved me as the beauty of nature...

Some loved me in the rhymes of their prose...

Some loved me in the spirit of their tumblers...

Some loved me over the fine artwork of hands...

Some loved me in the 'bhaavas' of 'nratya'...

Some loved me for the caress in my company...

Some loved me for the clarity of my mind...

Some loved me for the innocence of a kid...

Some loved me for the divinity of soul...

Some loved me from the first sight,
and then, some loved me for the mere sake of loving someone.

Loved me...
With reasons...

Who loved me as a true friend.

With bits of all reasons, but none 'The' reason.

...Ours is not a heavenly love...
It is an earthly love. Of Humans. Like Humans.

Ordinary Yet Special.

Jul 29, 2011

The next turn on the right

Google Images

'The shop next to the Mother Dairy outlet.'
After a smile and a Thank you, We exited 'Unique Cyber Cafe' to wander in the busy day market of Hari Nagar. The electrical goods shop owner was talking to a customer about how beautiful handwriting he had, and giving some tips for the customer's son to improve his'. Now and then, cycle rickshaw's would ring their bells to clear ways.

I held Mumma's hand. In the other, I held the shopping bag. The flour shop had come. She climbed two steps to reach to the raised platform of that kiosk. Asking her to do the rest shopping and meet me at a commonplace later, I left for the next right turn, which was only a few shops across.

A Mother Dairy board was hanging on the stem of a tree...a yard's distance from the corner. A bunch of school kids were standing on their toes at a stationary shop, asking for Boomer and Kachcha Aam. Dressed in their school uniform...a half tucked white shirt on a navy blue shorts. One of the shortest and thinnest boy clipped his belt, reached for some coins in his pocket, and re-clipped his belt again.

An eatery's chef was kneading the dough, while his mates were putting Mirchi Ka Achaar, Chole in big aluminium containers. It was about time they started serving the famous punjabi dish, relished by Delhites & immigrants alike. Except my Mumma, who hated it.

The tree I reached, but no where in picture, was the Cyber Cafe which was supposed to be having a 'working' printer...

The big fat man on the dairy outlet was busy packing Curd into small plastic bags.
'Bhaiya, is there any Cyber Cafe in this lane?'

Busy in his work, bending over to pick a plastic from the pack, he replied, '1st Floor pe hai.' without even caring his eyes the effort to stop focussing the curd. Obesity could be so disabling. He was sweating by the mere task of bending. His lungs were efforting like that of a chronically constipated person's does.


At 1st Floor, it seemed as if a hundred heads turned, even if the space had only ten systems working. A girl in a cyber outlet- was still weird here. Everyone kept on looking while I searched for a manager/owner. Finding none, I pushed open the door to exit, when one amongst the many staring said, 'Yes, Madam.'


Print in hand, I walked only a few steps ahead when I found Mumma waiting. The sight of a familiar face instilled immense security, relief and happiness. I hate going to a public place alone. Even in buses or metro for that matter. Alienating it is.

Giving her the print, I took the shopping bag from her hand. Flour, Pulses and Fruits...added a good 8 kilo weight on my shoulders, to which I tilted my body and changed my center of gravity and we started our journey back home.

A lean, turban-clad 20-old boy was now standing at the eatery shop. The dough balls glistened as they lay neatly arranged near the cylindrical barbecue which smoked hot. 'Slurrrp' shouted the stomach. Eyes would have stopped for a moment, but not the feet. I shifted my gaze to the other things on road. The LML scooter, the Hero cycle. Not saying a word, and not exchanging a glance with Mumma, we kept on moving.

The stationary shop passed, now, having no kids. We were to re-enter the main markets just when Mumma said, 'Let's have a Chola Batura.'


Tele says: She reads my minds. And sometimes, she even reads my actions well before their formulation. She let's me have what makes me happy. She's the magician!!

She does it all...for a mere smile on my face. Mothers.....will be mothers!!

Jul 27, 2011

Your Opinion...

The toughest part of chosing a gift is the uncertainity involved. Will she like it? Or will she just keep it in the farthest corner of the cupboard to never reach for it ever again?

Shopping is one thing which hangs on the last spot on my To-Do's List. Spending so much of your brain onto what would look good on you/ for you is itself such a taxing task; leave aside shopping for someone else!!

So, this time when I have to chose gifts for my dear friend and my sissy...I have hopped onto books.

Books, they say, are the greatest gifts one can give.

What should I be gifting them: The genre they usually read or the genre which they've never laid their hands on?


A younger sibling brings forth the parent in you, and hones it.

Thank you for the wonderful lessons, J !! =)


Not long ago....

He held himself hesitantly in front of me, with a thin yet clearly existant viel to the real self. His expressions were measured, calculated and half-concealed. What made him act this way, I knew.

A bit scared, a bit intimidated and a bit ignorant he was. He didn't want to end up being shouted at. Also, being deficient of the love he deserved, kept him distant despite being near.

Despite my loving him too much, he never understood my emotion. Or so, I always felt.

I had some magnanimous dreams for him. Of getting him the gadget he desires, from my first pay. Of seeing him reading in the best college. Of dreaming him excelling in all the fields...not just studies.
And, of all such plans, I, always conversed with him about studies, co-curricular activities, adviced him, lectured him, and blah blah.

Not once did I realize that it was only ambition that I was expressing, not love.

I did go harsh on him. At an age & time, when sisters should be supporting and diffusing the tension by fun-talks, I advised. And did that too seriously indeed.

Google Images

When he drew away from me, I least noticed. Why he distanced himself, hardly bothered me. All, I wanted were results. For I didn't want to see him suffer at the hands of failure. I didn't want him to ever face that bloody dementor. Care, for him, declined with each passing day.

Not that I behaved like this each and every moment. I had my own reality check times when I tried to straighten this bent of mind.

Finally, with much effort and much time, I did get a bit milder. And, by the time the results came, I had my thoughts completely under my emotional control.

No more did I let my 'ideas of happiness' rule over 'his reasons of happiness'.

Besides, he did give us immense happiness, to be true.


A few hours ago, he told Mumma, 'Tele didi is so good, na! I miss her.'


Yes, I got my brother BACK!
Or better...
I got the Sister BACK in me!

Status: Joyous, beyond words.

Tele says: Love without expression is worse than not loving at all.

Jul 19, 2011

Smiling Eyes

Congratulations is THE word!

Engagement, Raise, Competetive Examination Cleared.

Happiness all around me.

And now, it's our turn!!

Jul 17, 2011

Ek SMS me kya rakha hai?

Ek choti bacchi apne papa ke sath ja rhi thi.1 pul pr pani bhut tezi se beh rha tha.

Papa- beta daro mt, mera hath pakd lo.

Bacchi- nhi papa aap mera hath pakd lo.

Papa(muskura kr)- dono me kya antar h.

Bacchi- agr me apka hath pkdu, or achank kuch ho jae, to shayd, me apka hath chhod du, LEKIN agr aap mera hath pkdnge, to me janti hu k chahe kuch bhi ho jae, AAP MERA HATH KBHI NHI CHHODENGE.


Sender: Eddy Teddy

The only SMS my Dad ever sent me.

No matter I had read this message earlier, No matter I couldn't control my emotions and cried...
All that matters is that he too, sure, would have shed a tear or two that night.

The most complex, often-left-for-later, feelings were expressed and received. Indirectly.

< Behind the tough character of every man, lies a father. >

Take out a minute to re-read the sms, thinking it of as a SMS YOUR FATHER has sent YOU.


Smiles, Frowns and Tears...
The bonds of several years
found a new zenith

Laughs, Jokes and Care...
The new entrant, the pair
dissolved in us with ease

What more could a soul want...!
The future blending with the existant
and only happiness to ricochet.

Meaning, Purpose to Life met
The things flying are now, all set
Liberation it is, Indeed the 'Moksha'

< Sis engaged, He taken up...One happy family it is. >

Status: In Peace!

Jul 4, 2011

July, The Third

On a humid sunny morning following a broken night's sleep, eyes opening to 6 on the clock is not quite pleasant a feeling. Not, until the mobile screen flashes today's date: July, 3rd.

Fond beautiful remembrances this day holds, which flash one after another in
rapid succession inculcating glee and nostalgia.

The last day of the summer holidays it used to be, at my alma-mater. Kinda weird it was to always start on a 3rd July instead of the usual ritual of 1st. But, the content of your vacations lasting while that of others' don't, is a sweet feeling. ;-)

The dusks of July 2nd always held an element of mysterious eagerness. Was it the pride of writing the Class V on the labels by a barely-two-month-back Class IV student; or was it the thrill of getting to meet a new set of teachers and sitting in the new classrooms? All was blissful.

Come evenings, and Mummy would get to covering the notebooks with the brown papers, and make us do the stapling and label-sticking. Labels were the ones we used to choose for ourselves, when Dad used to take us for pre-school-shopping on his Bajaj scooter in the lanes of the congested city area. I usually selected some cartoons, once I got barbies...and younger brother always got cars, if not pokemons. =) With the labels in place, we used to get Dad's pens. They meant quite much when WE wrote only with pencils till Vth Stdd. And, such an achievement it was, when Dad purchased me my first Ink Pen. I even got a Chinese Pen along with it for good performance in the fourth standard. B-)

Google Images


Quitely, in a disciplined fasion, we arranged ourselves in the room with our covered-book-sets with us. Writing the labels was the only one task where our jubiliation was expressed in silence and not dis-order. Mummy used to supervise each one of us, and kept us reminding to mention the 'higher' class and not the one we had studied the last year on the labels. The best of handwriting was to be inked, which once done with were the reason of another uproar, for we ran around the house, behind Mummy Daddy Granpa Granma...and asked them to judge and name one winner for the best scribbles.

Neat stack of books, notebooks, new HB Nataraj pencils, new pencil box, with the scented bright-colored apple-mango-teddy shaped rubbers, or the Non-dust erasers which took the former's place as we grew. The new tiffin boxes, the water-bottles, and the new bags!!

Sometimes, merely having a new thing in life injects the 'enthusiasm' shot which even the drip of already-having-things-that-interest-you can't infuse.

Nights of 2nd July were dreamy. And early. Eyes wide open imagined the coming day, which came too early, too bright being too energetic as well.
The bathroom area bustled, shouts of 'Towel' 'Comb' 'Paste' echoed. The pressed uniforms that had been distanced and ignored the previous months, tempted; the polished black-shoes attracted. Bubbling bus trip to school, meeting old friends, prayer time in the lawns...'Where the mind is without fear, and the head is held high!'

The introductions that happened in every period on Day 1 and the first recess of the academic year...truly, words were taken in, more than the food. New classmates were befriended, seats were alloted. Every activity had higher energy levels than the previous one.

Those days of innocence, sincerity, zeal and selfless intent... July 3rd makes me remember all.


On an analytical note, Kiddy me usually lives more in me than the grown up me.

Enough a reason to jive...Isn't it?? ;-)