21 to 41

Yes, 41 is a magical number for me as I have almost doubled up my blog posts as compared to last year’s 21. Well, even the name has changed from ‘Little Joys of Life’ to ‘Adding a – of Creativity to Life.’ This year had a lot of happenings in my life. The experiences doubled, the visits doubled and a new phase of life started, but among all these the most important change that came is a new style of writing. Literature became my friend for life as I found a shelter below it to know many interesting things of life. I came to know even there’s something that the birds have to say as they chirp, even the trees have to express their joy when they receive the season’s first rain and express their grief during summers.

I came to know that even sitting idle and alone in a coffee shop can make you write a story. Even a chill wintry night can take your imagination to a new level and you can weave a creative piece of your own. It has been a wonderful blogging year for me. Many interesting posts are yet to come.

Happy New Year 2016 to everybody and my fellow bloggers. 

My Letter to Santa

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      North Pole

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       India

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       25/12/2015

Dear Santa,

    Why You Never Come?

I have been wondering since my childhood. My grandma used to tell me that you come every winter riding on the deers, but I haven’t seen you ever. I have seen you smiling all these years carrying your valise in the red robe, but the urge to meet with you never went away. Even my friends and cousins have been expecting to see you.

Thank you for all the happiness you showered on us in the form of gifts, chocolates and what not. Do you know that we spend an entire day in your memory? We dance and make merry as we eat the fudge cake with a cherry.

I will wait for you and hope you will come someday.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              With Love,

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           A Santa Lover

A Timely 2015

 

 

 

I had a roller coaster ride with time this year and that’s why I want to sum up 2015 in one term – TIME. So, the year started with a full working day on 1^st JANUARY as I along with my colleagues made n number of trips to the various departments of Ministries trying to collect the data from all the super confused IAS officers. The next month went as usual without a valentine, followed by a colorless MARCH as all the friends flew to their hometown to celebrate the festival of colors.

APRIL started a new beginning in my life thus introducing a sweet valentine for the rest of februaries of my life. Her sweet and tender voice helped me to find the romantic me and I found a new meaning to life. MAY opened the door to happiness as I finally met with her, breaking the boundaries of distance. Is the wait so exciting? Is this what happens in love? I found the answers as I have been searching for them since the last 27 years. I witnessed TIME running for the first time bringing a fresh feeling of happiness in life. Oh! Time I wish you could replay you as I returned to the workplace with all sweet memories and a little pain in my heart, the pain of missing her.

JULY and AUGUST proved to be the most strenuous. ‘Hey! Wait wait time I cannot catch you. Is this day or night? When did the sun rise and when did it go down?’ Sorry man, I am caught in the midst of files in a Govt. department proofreading financial documents with no end time and short deadlines.

‘Ready, steady, Po!’ Time came and shouted in my ears as I woke up one fine morning In OCTOBER with the message of ‘It’s time to tie the knot,’ the next thought? No, it’s was not a thought, it was the title song of Bhaag Milkha Bhaag that constantly played in my head. It was not about tying the knot, but tying up everything as I was about to shift to my hometown leaving the city where I had spent 5 glorious years.  I was happy and emotional, but couldn’t help it as time again knocked me hard at my back.

However, it didn’t remain for long as I got hitched with a wonderful person. NOVEMBER started well as again in no TIME, I appeared for many interviews and even got a job in the City of Joys. Since then, how TIME is flying by I have no idea.  Now that DECEMBER is here I am spending a wonderful time with my family.

Thank You TIME for making 2015 full of surprises. I will cherish the moments forever………..

 

The Star Power is With You Now, so #AwakenYourForce

You wake up to the sound of a fighter plane that just rushed past you. There is silence in your dark room.You see Darth Vader standing in front of you. Your eyes fall on his hand, as he holds a 39.62cm square sized thing that is glowing with red backlit keys. The dark side graphics of that thing create an inner force inside you and you move forward.

Vader leaps forward and attacks you with his lightsaber. You, do a backflip and escape the stealth attack. An inner force wakes you up with vengeance and you discover that square sized thing as the all new HP StarWars Special Edition Notebook in Vader’s other hand.

You hit Vader on his left foot, place a mean punch on his head. Vader loses his focus for a second and you get hold of the special edition notebook. The anti-glare WLED-backlit blur the eyes of Vader and he puts down his foot infront of you saying, ‘Bravo! You have #AwakenYourForce,’ and hence the HP StarWars Special Edition Notebook is now yours. 

The Great Woes of the Shoes

A long queue of shoes is waiting at the bus stand. A few minutes later, the bus arrives. The queue breaks and the feet struggle to get the first seat. While few of them rest comfortably, most of them struggle to find a seat and then starts the woes of the shoes.

S1: Move, move. I can’t breath

S2: What to do? Tell him, it’s not my wish

S1: Gosh! He has lost his senses and doesn’t know where to stand?

S2: Here comes another. It’s dirty and stinky man

S1: And doesn’t know where to stand

S2: I came all polished and shiny. Now look at me. I’m all dirty

S1: Never mind bro. This is our everyday woe.

S2: Hey! Did you see that curvy one that just got up now

S1: Ya man! She is damn……….

S2: Woooo she is coming near us

S1: Move! Move! am still stain free and clear off the dust

S1: But that dirty and stinky one is approaching towards me faster than her. Wait man I need to impress her first. Err!!!!!! You dirty fool, you made my day bad

S2: Hahaha! She didn’t even give a damn to you and went passed without giving a sigh

S1: You were right bro. We should never mind. This is our everyday woe.

Who’s She?

The Porche arrives

With the Chauffer all dressed

In crisp white Girgio Armani

She steps outside, pretentiously

Who’s She?

Zara covers her up

Prada lifts her up

She flaunts Gucci on her left hand

As she looks behind her Oakleys with content  

Who’s She?

 Avon marks her lips hot

Mac glows her face

Versace spreads the fragrance

Adding a grandeur to her grace

Who’s She?

iPhone, iPad and Air Pad

She keeps on scrolling

The chats and updating status

On social media

And many other chats

Who’s She?

She’s all in brands

Who thinks all these make her look grand

Image Source: Google Images

Revisiting the books

They lie in the same place as I had left them 6 years ago before leaving for the Capital City to pursue my career. Today, after many years, as I turn the pages removing the dust that had settled over them with the passage of time, I transport back to the time I had spent as a student and more importantly replay my childhood.

I revisit those lost moments, when I used to spend countless nights solving the problem that gave me sleepless nights. I find that term in the science book, which took me three days to pronounce and three months to memorize. I find that wonderfully written summary of a literary piece by my English teacher. I also find the ‘redo’ term written with the red ink by my maths school teacher; his big rounded eyes made me scare as he used to look at me giving that angry gaze above those heavy spectacles.

 

A smell catches my nose and I sneeze. Oh! It’s the leaf, which I had put in between the pages of my Income Tax book as a token of blessing from goddesses Saraswati. The leaf has now dried up and has turned into tiny bits of green leftovers and along with it the blessings have disappeared.

That page of Hindi book that once got burnt a bit due to my negligence in lighting the candle reminds me of the scolding that I got from my mother. I feel like a child when I found my Class 3 notebook with a stained mark of the ‘daal’ that I spilled over while trying to have my dinner with my hand and studying at the same time. The smell is no more, but yes the memory, it still etched fresh in my mind.

Such are the beauty of books. Time passes and an era goes by, but a book, it always stores back the moment you have spent with it.

The Internet That Never Sleeps

Likes, Tweets and Shares

They stay awake through the night

As they travel from the wall to the world

With the blink of an eye

Videos, hot or cool

They keep on updating

From the naughty one’s to the prank boo!

Do you have your one too?

Even Apple is disturbed these days

With 47k downloads every day

Steve must be happy about this

As he watches from above with grace

Night selfie, sleep selfie and trying to sleep selfie

Keeps Instagram drowsy

Can’t help you Internet

They wanna post it insta

And wanna keep you awake foreva

These 3 words are for YOU

I’ll be there

When everything, will not be fine

And stand beside you, to make everything alright

I  Thank you

For being in my life

And for our countless hugs after the fights

I want you

Not to remain with me forever

But to put our hearts in one soul together

Hold my hand

Because once I was lost in loneliness

Then I found me with you after the sadness

We are lovers

Time will pass and the ages will come one after the other

I will keep loving you my little angel as we keep growing older

I’ll Catch You, If I Can

If you were on time,

I would have reached there at nine

If you were empty,

I would have become bulky

If you were kind,

I wouldn’t have to apologize to my shoes

If you would have stopped,

I would have climbed without getting injured

You always rush in and fill up,

Leaving me stranded at the bus stop

Someday I hope to catch you

But, only catch you if I can L

Image source: 123rf.com

Kolkata – The City of ‘Changes’

Image source: The Hindu

 

 

 

Ever since I have shifted to Kolkata, my wallet is having a tough time carrying the weight of small silver coins and has developed a paunch like a traditional Bengali man.

Without change or as they in bangla, ‘Khuchro Poisha’ life comes to a halt here. The vegetable seller would refuse to deliver if you fall short of one rupee, the bus conductor would make a face and say a few witty words once you get off the bus and what’s interesting is if you ever happen to walk in a crowd full of office goers, you could actually hear sounds of coins dancing and celebrating their importance inside the trousers or in a shirt’s pocket.

I decided to do a research regarding the emergence of coins and came across this amazing infographic which I want to share with you guys.

Image source: The Telegraph

Giving the BLOG, a THOUGHT

I blog, he blogs, she blogs, they blog. The whole world blogs now. We vent our emotions, we let the world know about it just by clicking the ‘Publish’ button.

The concept of writing down daily experiences in a diary is now replaced by a blog. I still remember when I was in seventh standard, at the end of every day, I used to pen down each activity I did in a diary. It was really a fantastic experience. Today, if I want to get back those moments again, probably I have to remove the dust from the shelf, sneeze a lot as the dust would take me in it’s trap.

What if there was a blog at that time?

I could not only write down the best part of the day, but also click the picture of the precious moments and share them with the whole world.

The blogging revolution has brought a big change

One stupid thought is viral now

Posts like top 5 pictures taken just at the right moment or weird celebrity expressions are today the most clicked and shared posts. They are weird, but this makes them clicked by millions of visitors around the world. This would not have been possible without a blog.

Social friends are REAL friends now

How many friends do you have in social media, whom you have met in real life? I guess most of the answers would be “very few.” A blog is not only a digital platform to share ideas but a network to build professional relationship with fellow bloggers. Websites like Indiblogger and Writeup Café allow bloggers to join groups and meet at various events and exchange ideas with each other about blogging.

To BLOG is a JOB now

Now if you are a blogger, then the industry has a job for you where you do nothing but only blog. Imagine you do a job, which is your hobby or passion.

Thank you BLOG for being a part of my life and the other blogger’s life.

Happy Blogging!

I to WE

The day she met with me

And the day today

Lies a huge difference

She was close to me

Now, she is in my breaths

The hands that never stopped typing on phone

Now touches her soul with a kiss

The time that passed in her thoughts

Now flies by, with her presence every time

I have spent the evenings alone

Now we spent it over a laugh, sharing thoughts

The emptiness in my heart

Is now filled with care and love

The emotions that surrounded us

Now gets shared between us

The roads that appeared desolate

Now seems to be lively with her presence

The selfie that captured the poutless me

Now captures the poutful us

We cry, we fight, we laugh

We are bounded by the strong bond of love

Creative Curry – I

I don’t remember my first meeting with you.

I wanted to keep you with me for long, but you would disappear within seconds.

It is really heartbreaking when you come to me adorned with Cherries and Nuts. Forgive me, others might like you that way, but I like you simple without any sophistication.

One night, when mom and dad were asleep, I secretly opened the door. It was freezing. I peeped in looked at you and spent a little time enjoying with you.

When one of the milk teeth parted ways with me, you helped me to forego the pain of suffering.

Chocolates. Wohoo! When you came with them, I even have more fun.

Two slices of mango and with you by their sides, it’s a dessert I would love to have anytime.

All I do know is the pleasure every time you give me, the moment you melt in my mouth.

Thank you ICECREAM, be my friend forever .

 

The Twisted Story

“Bruno, where are you baby?,” enquired Aisha as she entered her house. An eerie silence prevailed all over. She switched on the lights of her drawing room, but there was no sign of her Alsatian anywhere. Every evening after Aisha returns from her work, Bruno comes wagging its tail, making a whining sound. He jumps on her arms, licks her face and starts whirling around her, but that day was a bit different as she was surprised by Bruno’s absence. She looked under the bed, went to her study room and searched every corner; there was no trace of her dog. Aisha was very emotionally attached to Bruno, she started crying. He was her only friend in New Delhi since the time she shifted her base from Bangalore.

Depressed and all distressed, Aisha decided to have a final look around the house. She opened the backdoor – a pungent smell caught her nose. She covered her nose with her hand. A deep moan of pain came from the other end of the garden. Aisha ran. Bruno laid on one end of the garden. He was murdered brutally with a knife. As drops of sweat formed across Aisha’s forehead, she could feel a vaccum in her voice witnessing the gruesome death of her dog. The torch dropped from her shaky hands making a tinkling sound. The broken glasses brittled all over the ground. Aisha was unable to fathom this obnoxious reason of her pet’s murder. With her hunched knees on the floor, Aisha kept looking at her beloved Bruno. Drops of tears flowed down her cheeks as she fought with her emotions of losing her close friend in the capital city.

“What’s that?,” murmured Aisha with a raised eyebrow as she saw a piece of white cloth lying across Bruno’s lifeless body. She went near it, she saw that the cloth got tangled with the branches of the plants and stretched itself even to the top of the wall. It was only then, Aisha realized that somebody was involved, but who can be that person? She didn’t make any close friends in the three months of her stay in Delhi, neither did she had any personal grudges with anybody, that would sow seeds of revenge in anybody’s mind.

It had been a sleepless night for Aisha. She couldn’t accept the fact that her only companion was now missing from her life. A silence prevailed all over the house. As lines of tension formed over her forehead, a thought struck in her head. Yesterday, Aarti, a maid had come to her house for a conversation. Probably, she had a disagreement over her expenses because it was too difficult for Aisha to afford such an expensive maid after paying a hefty rent which she had to pay for her 2BHK apartment at Defence Colony in Lajpat Nagar. So, did Aarti………? No, why would she kill my dog?

Cring!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Aisha feels a mild pain at the back of her head. She removes the quilt from her face. With closed eyes she searches for the alarm clock and with the tip of her index finger presses the ‘snooze’ button. It’s 6:30 am, she wakes up in a hurry, but then pulls back the quilt realizing its Sunday today so no office rush.

She breaks down as the thought of Bruno again strikes her mind, but why is the door of her room opened? Aisha wakes up to inspect. A series of a dog’s mud stained paws fill her dining room. She pinches herself. “What the hell?,” Aisha asks herself as she follows the footsteps, “Where am I going? Where am I headed to now?”

The paws lead to a dark place where a man dressed in a black cloak welcomes Aisha.

“Welcome to hell little lady. Don’t be surprised. You are dead now. You had no past, you have no present.”

A scream followed “I am not Aisha now.”

Then who is she?  

It’s really difficult to understand who do we become and what we think once we die.

 

Sounds of the inner soul

So many problems, so many questions

I get confused trying to figure out

Where lies life’s complexities

And how to untie the tangled knot

I don’t find answers, I have no solutions

I am only a silent spectator

Who watches the drama

As the climax of life’s play unfolds

I question myself who am I?

Am I the one who is running away from life?

Or am I the one who is trapped

In the ugly complexities of life

Why am I questioning my identity?

Did God send me to this earth

To bear the tyrannies of life?

To surrender to the sufferings?

 May be it’s the call of life

May it’s an opportunity to rediscover

To fight the inner demons

And find a new meaning of life

I will not be the silent spectator anymore

I will not search for any answers now

Instead I will enjoy the present

And find solace, that will calm the sounds of my inner soul

I will now don the hat of the protagonist

Play the new role with confidence

That will give a new meaning to my life

The so many silences of my life

I have formed a bond with silence. Everyday, I return home and surrender myself to it. The books remain where they were, the windows show their face only when I switch on the lights. It’s only the gushing of water from the tap, the sound of the AC or the moving fan that interrupt the pin drop silence that prevails in my room. Well, there are more sounds that constantly break the slience- the sound of thoughts. After a tiresome day, when I sleep on the bed, the thoughts keep occupying my mind. They trespass the lines of emotions and keep me awake all night.

But it is this silence that takes me to its lap very easily when I have a disturbed mind. I forget all the worries for the time as I take a dive to a calm ocean where I float like a boat that has enough time to reach to the shore. Again, I wake up in silence and again a new day starts.

One day, the same silence came upto me. It didn’t say or do anything. It directly struck to my mind and said, “Hello, I have something to say.” I asked, “What?” It said, “Just be with me and you will know.” A minute later, a flow of thoughts start occupying my mind. I couldn’t help but take my pen and begin to write.

 

Thanks Silence for being in my life in so many forms.

Tara- the cacophonies of life

Tara is an interesting tale of the gender discrimination that still prevails in the Indian society. What is the reason behind India still being a male dominated society? or why a male is still considered as the decision maker in a family? The play throws light on this subject. Directed by Arvind Gaur, Tara is a well-told story brought on stage by seven strong characters- Tara, Chandan, Roopa, Dan, Patel , Dr. Thakkar and Bharti. It brings out the cacophonies of life which we face in our everyday lives.

Tara and Chandan are twins, conjoined from birth, but that didn’t pose to be a hurdle for either of the two. With advanced medical technology, they were separated successfully.  Life’s bitter experiences on the other hand were waiting for the two as they were cursed with handicapped legs. Bharti, mother of Chandan and Tara has an unconditional love for the two, quite opposite to Mr. Patel, her selfish husband who only wanted his son to join business.

Caught in between the complexities of life is Tara, who fails to understand why there is such a difference in love and affection towards her in the family or is it because she is a girl? On one side, is her mother, Bharti who considers her the apple of her eye, on the other side is her father who is least concerned about her daughter’s future.

Tara has a dysfunctional lung in her body which she was unaware of. Only Bharti was aware of her critical condition. On the other hand, Bharti is undergoing an emotional distress that has made her vulnerable to mental disturbance. Dan decides to admit ailing Bharti in the hospital after seeing her rapid deterioration in health and makes it sure that none of his children are allowed to visit her without his consent.

Amidst much tension, Tara gets operated at the hospital. She is kept aloof of her mother’s critical condition. An ever inquisitive Tara returns home searching her mother. Both her father and Chandan try to pacify her by cracking jokes, but she doesn’t succumb to them.  She seeks the help of her brother to meet her mother, but even he denies for any help.

Tara is shocked to know that even her own brother was not by her side, when she decided to visit her ailing mother in the hospital. Chandan, on the other hand was constantly fighting with his inner demons that stopped him to stand beside her beloved sister, Tara. He failed to understand what was it that was stopping him from standing by his sister. Chandan was in a state of delirium, he could realize there must be something that was stopping his father from meeting his mother.

Chandan grows up to be a writer. Till date, he hasn’t been successful. He is always haunted by his past. One day he decides to write a story taking Dr. Thakkar as the main protagonist. While interviewing Dr. Thakkar, he comes to know that in one of his operations, he had been unfair when he was bribed by Mr. Dan (who happens to be Chandan’s father) to afford the male child with a better leg. Hence, the girl child, Tara was denied of this privilege.

Knowing this ugly truth of life Chandan commits suicide as he was not successful either in becoming a writer or a child who could take care of his family.

Lessons from an Artist

It’s Saturday, 9:30 p.m. I am taking the first sip of Slice, which I have just purchased from the nearby shop. I scan my eyes through Safdar Hashmi Marg near Shriram Centre after watching a wonderful play. The place is bustling with theatre enthusiasts – Singers, Writers and Actors. A group of youngsters entourage an old man in his early 60s as he tells them anecdotes of his life through an artist’s eye. Few metres away, is a group of men in their 50s sitting over a bench discussing literature over cups of tea. Sometimes I wonder why Mandi House is not renamed as an Artist’s Paradise?

I spot a scrawny guy in his 20s. Once he glares at me and the very next moment tilts down his head on the A3 sized white sheets clipped to his wooden board. He looks frail in a blue t-shirt and khaki trousers. The shoe lace of the right leg is untied. His hair is ruffled and his valise is kept in a precarious way over a stone tab. His right hand moves advertently over a board. He is sketching something. I appear benighted and don’t allow him to get an idea that I am his model of the human caricature which he is scribbling on his sheet of white paper.

Finishing my Slice, I get up, take the other way and reach to the place where the guy was sitting. I reach from behind to observe him. Getting a hint of my presence and in a state of embarrassment, he turns the page. I say, “It’s ok dude. Chill. Carry on.” I sit beside him and ask, “Seems you are an art student. Which college do you belong to?” “Jamia Islamia,” comes the reply. I curiously ask, “It’s already 9:40 p.m. won’t you return home?” After a brief pause of few seconds, he replies, “Assignment.” I wonder what assignment? He again replies, “I need to submit 250 sketches in a week as a part of our 1^st semester”

                                                      Image source: williamchyr.com

“This means 30 sketches per day!,” I wonder. Before I could say anything, he further replies, “I am late today. Usually I arrive here at 5:30 in the evening. Today, I came at 8:00, so I have to do a late night sitting.”

I am completely taken aback by the kid’s dedication towards his craft. No, it is not only a craft to him but a passion that drives him as an artist, because when I ask him about his future plans he says, “Artist banna hai (I want to be an artist).”

As a teenager, I too had dreams to be an artist but it was my family that didn’t support the idea to earn a living by being an artist. They were quite true to an extent because earning a living as a painter is really difficult in the Indian market.

So, what did I learn from that young artist?

You should pursue dreams no matter what the result is. The young guy is quite aware about the bleak future of artists, but still carries on his struggle with his painting.

Nukkad Natak and Tamasha with Bollywood Tadka

Bollywood and Indians, they are inseparable. Indian films have always been a reflection of the society we live in. Be it the caste reservation system, corruption at the government offices or the other day to day affairs of life, the 70MM screen over the last few years has portrayed situations and incidences of life through songs and interesting story telling.

 

This Saturday, I had the profound pleasure of watching a street play (Nukkad Natak) by a bunch of youngsters from the Ashmita Theatre Group at the Shriram Centre, Mandi House. They performed  11 plays with interesting dialogues and ended each one of them with a song from a Bollywood movie.

Skip, Hop N Elope

A thunder strikes and it begins to rain. She is scared and hides her face in my chest. Both of us are drenched in rain. I can feel her breath as she draws her closer to mine. I embrace her tightly in my arms and kiss her forehead. The thunder strikes again. As drops of water forms all over her face, she looks more beautiful than ever. I go on watching her and appreciate her flawless beauty. Her shy face is like that freshly bloomed flower whose petals shine brighter as the first rays of dawn fall on it.

I firmly hold her head with my hands and kiss her lips. The rain turns into a violent storm. Somewhere, I could hear the sound of lighting. An eerie of silence prevails all over. I realize that there is nobody, but only me and my love. Perhaps, our bond is so strong that it cannot separate us in rain or hailstorm.

I weep the next moment. She is not with me anymore. It was just a moment which I fantasized. I wish I could SKIP, HOP N ELOPE to from the present. 

It’s now or never

Writing is forever

It’s now or never

Write whenever you are free

Because it’s the words

That have the beauty

Stories or Poems

Whether good or bad

Make sure that you have a writing pad

To remember the times of applaud

To register the moments of despair

Which you won’t get back ever

But will cherish life’s lessons forever

Pen, Pencil and Paper

Are the amours of a writer

I always find solace

Between words and letters

 Whenever I sit down

And scribble on a paper

Something or the other comes out

The sheer pleasure of writing never seems to get over

5 everyday Hindi words which are Urdu

Urdu language traces its origin from Hindi, but we are not aware of the fact that some of the Hindi words which we use in our everyday lives are not Hindi actually. They are Urdu words. Let’s take a look at some of them. Well, the outcome will surely tickle your funny bones.

1.       Urdu word – Dost

Hindi word – Mitra

Urdu word – Tarikh

Hindi word – Dinakh

Now imagine if you were to ask somebody in Hindi about today’s date, you would have asked, “Arey mitra, kya dinakh hai aaj? ”

And the famous dialogue of Sunny Deol would be, “Dinakh pe Dinakh, Dinakh pe Dinakh………”

2.       Urdu word - Sirf

Hindi word – Keval

When you have a certain preference over a particular food item, then you will say, “Main roti keval aalu ki sabzi ke saath hi khata hoon ”

3.       Urdu word – Darwaza

Hindi word – Dwar

Close the door would be, “Dwar bandh kardo”

4.       Urdu word – Khoon

Hindi word – Rakht

The title of the movie, ‘Saat Khoon Maaf’ would have been ‘Saat Rakht Maaf’

5.       Urdu word – Dil

Hindi word – Hridaya

Arijit Singh would have sung, “Hridaya……… sambhal ja zara, phir mohabbat karne chala hai tu”

The Road to Painting

As a teenager in my school days I always dreamt of being a creative person. There was always an urge to create something that will belong solely to me. The quest of creativity began early in my life, when I started to make doodles drawing haphazard lines all over white sheets, wherever I came across them. I joined an art school and took baby steps to filling up human caricatures with crayon pencils. I then graduated to water colour painting thus brushing the canvas with strokes of emotions or sometimes infusing a new breath of life in the whiteboard. There was never a moment of dullness in life. A spray of colours spread all over causing them spilling joy and warmth all over my mind.

 

The relationship of art with me is that of a colour with water, which when mixed gives birth to something which one hasn’t seen before. With each stroke of the brush, there are thousands and lacs of dreams that are born. Dreams that take you to unseen places with the surroundings where you desired to be. Your hand is the sailor who sails the ship through scenic routes and takes it to its desired destination.

Art is a form of self-expression. It rests the flying mind to a halt thereby focusing all the creative energies to one place. There are no limits and no full stops. The road to painting is unending and full of surprising stops. It even lets you change the direction of the road with that one single stroke.

Today, after a long hiatus of five years, I am going to start painting again. Excited and elated I am. Let’s see what comes out of these hands that were left abandoned to writing for few years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Up with rains

Nostalgic Rains

The pitter patter outside reminds me of my childhood memories. The russet sky reminds me of the poem which my grandmother used to recite as I sat in her lap.  I remember the aroma of the potato fries and the many other delicious edibles which were prepared in our house on the eve of first monsoon. Ignoring the sight of elders once I eloped from the house with my cousins to enjoy the rains. Boats, muds, football, climbing mango trees; we did everything we could followed by a cold cough and high fever when we returned home.

 

Romantic Rains

School days weren’t different either. Rain was a good reason that helped me to skip a day in the class, but not every time, because it was on a rainy day when I met with my first puppy love. She was all wet and look scared in her big tinted black glass. With a big umbrella I went up to her and asked, “You can come with me if you want.” Skeptical at first, she sighed a bit, thought for a while and then gave the final nod.

 

Creative Rains

Who said it was only in isolation and a quaint place where a writer could express his or her thoughts? The constant dripping sound made by the rains strike a chord in the inner mind, urges you to pick up that pen and start scribbling words. You can pen down a philosophical thought about life, write a poem or can also start humming a song – such is the power of rains as it helps to pour in all the creative thoughts.

 

In the constant humdrum of our lives, rains splash our minds with its beautiful drops of joy. Happy Monsoon!

 

A Booky Affair

It’s Saturday afternoon. The clock says 11:00 a.m. The sun has decided to take a toll on the homo sapiens. A hot wind blows through, bringing in the loo with itself. Deep lines of sweat appear on the forehead of shopkeepers  who are about to open their trade for the day. I move a few steps further and it seems as if I have entered the high-street fashion zone and why not this is Khan Market. A number of street shops, sport the latest trendy garments as if saying to the window shopper, ‘I can add the zing to your look’. A Lamborghini zooms by making it my first view of the sports car in the city.

Before I get distracted by the glitz and glamour of the place, I finally find my destination – Café Turtle. Hidden between numerous street shops and bars, it’s rather easy to find this book reading café of South Delhi.  As I enter the Café, an ocean of books greets me and arouse the bookworm inside me. Fiction, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Historical books occupy the shelves. Ignoring the curious looks of the books, I made my way through the stairs to the reading Café.

White, Yellow and Orange colors adorn the walls. The peppy background music adds to the ambience of the Cafe. A young boy in his mid 20s is deeply engrossed in a book. Besides him, an elderly couple is enjoying an Iced Cappuccino. I take a window seat that offers a picturesque view of the world outside. As I peep through the window my attention falls on the beer bottles that have been beautifully recycled into flower pots. My attention shifts on the books that are beautifully kept on a small hanging shelf. Quotes from famous writers and paintings add to the ambience.

You can either pick up a book from the bookstore or can write a one sitting in the Café. But what makes Turtle Café the perfect place to give your creative mind a toss? Well, it is the ambience. The quaint and calm atmosphere in spite of visitors pouring in will still keep you engaged in your work and won’t divert your mind.  You can immerse in deep thoughts for your next literary piece, chat with anyone who is a reading buff while enjoying sumptuous food.

A mix of old world charm with a bit of sophistication, Café Turtle is the ultimate place to spend your literary time.

 

Choosing hobby as a career

Choosing a hobby as a career?  Any youngster who wants to settle down always has this question in his or her mind. Now let us analyze two situations.

Imagine you love to swim underwater and want to take up diving as a career. You are hired by one of the well-known film directors to cover an underwater shoot or let’s say you are a photographer who has participated in a contest by National Geographic Channel. Your pictures get selected and you are invited to work as an intern with them. Won’t that be an exciting career proposition?

Now, let’s say you have been sitting for different competitive exams since the last seven years and still have not been able to crack any one of them. You have qualified for the interview but every time you got rejected. Only a year is left for you to appear for the exam. On the other hand, your parents keep nagging you every day or the other to pull up your socks and take charge of your future. You are annoyed and have heated discussions over the phone every day.

Comparing the above situations, the first situation might inspire a youngster to take up his or her hobby as a profession and excel in life. In the second situation, family pressure might ultimately force you to quit and take any extreme decision in life or else it can also inspire you to work hard and finally land you up a government job.

Both the situations are quite unique in their own way. You can succeed or you might not succeed. You might love diving as a hobby and you are an expert diver, but it is not necessary that you will really make it big when it will come to develop this hobby as a career. On the other hand, you can also crack the competitive exam and land up the job. No one can pre-determine the outcomes in both the situations.

It really doesn’t matter whether you are choosing your hobby as a career or not. It is necessary to follow the passion of your life.

What if I was a Mother?

The very next moment I felt amazing. I imagined myself as a pregnant woman.  I could feel a light bump inside my stomach. There was a small living thing that was shaping up inside me. Sometimes at night when I was deeply engrossed in my thoughts, it made its presence felt with a slight movement. I couldn’t express the joy of being a soon to be mother. I didn’t knew whether it was a HE or a SHE but was sure that the new member of my family will be the apple of my eye.

Few months passed , I could feel this tiny creature slowly growing up. Sometimes, in my dreams I could hear a cute voice utter the word, “Mamma.” Often while sleeping, I used to open my eyelids, look around and laughed at stupid me.  This continued for months until the D day arrived.

I woke up with a scream that day. My loved ones gathered around me, took me to the hospital. The pain was unbearable, but I was ready to undergo it. I could feel the baby trying its best to leave the dark place that it had been for the last nine months.

A state of happiness prevailed everywhere as he saw the light of the day followed by his doleful and innocent cries. I could not stop sobbing, the joy of being a mother was something which I could not express to the world.  Someone who lived with me for so long , is now in my hands. Wow! she is my daughter.

Her small eyes looked here, there and everywhere. Her tiny limbs and fingers made subtle movements. She tilted her head and yawned signalling that the slumber has arrived. I watched her staring at me and smiling. I was elated this time, a series of tears again rolled down my cheeks. I told myself, “See mamma, she is staring at you.”

As a writer, it is quite easy to describe and fantasize the feelings of being a mother, but I have failed here to describe more, because only a mother can express the true joy of being a mother

Thank you Mother for bringing me in this world, I will always remain indebted to you.

Pic credit: drematico.com

The #Earthquake tragedy

The morning was fresh. Mild dew drops covered the window panes. Two sparrows sat on the edge of the stone tablet which lay idly for more than a decade now at the edge of the pond near our house. They constantly chirped only to disturb the serene and cold January winter. I could hear a sound from a not too distant playground from our house. A series of footsteps paraded the ground following the instructor’s strict round. I looked at the calendar peeping from the mosquito net with heavily closed eyes. 26^th January, 2001. The early morning sunrays played hide-and-seek through the partially closed window. I stretched my hands and yawned, cuddled with the pillow and appreciated the beauty of the dawn.  

I eagerly waited for the DD broadcast of the Republic Day parade to be telecasted. As I took the remote, I felt a mild tremor. My attention went to the half-filled water bottle that was kept above the table. The uniformity of the horizontal water level inside the bottle changed. Tiny ripples formed. The gentle movement was now replaced by an aggressive one. Not able to withstand further, it finally gave away to the pull of the nature and fell over the floor spilling water. I suddenly heard the sound of conches outside, blown by the lady folks trying to please the God to relieve us from this natural calamity as soon as possible. “It’s earthquake.” A shriek came from my mother urging me to come out of the house as soon as possible. There was panic and jittery everywhere. Kids were frightened and shocked to see this strange phenomenon of Mother Earth (as they read in their geography books); some of them on the other hand were really curious. They stood in silence and tried to feel the tremor as they closely observed the reaction of others.

As the ladies continued to fill in their breath inside the conches, the men folk were busy evacuating, inspecting the neighbour’s house and the other adjacent areas to find out any casualty. I went near the pond; the tablet that lay idly now floated on the water in a way as if a paper boat was released by a kid on a rainy day. The water hyacinths on the surface made to and fro movements. After two minutes, there was utter calmness. The quake shrunk slowly, thus bringing a respite. Perhaps, the sound of the conches reached the ears of the Gods and convinced them.

Numbness followed thereafter. Everyone looked around to pacify themselves that the bad times are gone. No, it was not over yet. A cloak of sadness prevailed somewhere. I could hear cries of a mother followed by a loud moan of a father. Their child was killed under the thatched roof of the house as it collapsed. She looked up at the sky, raised her hands, blamed the almighty for this mayhem and for this moment of despair.

Was it her fault that she lost her little ones or was his untime departure destined. If it was destined, then why????????

 

 

 

 

That beautiful thing called 'LOVE'

 

They sat cozily facing each other. He stretched the chair, sat comfortably; pulled it further to get closer to her. He gently touched her hand and began to play with her fingers. She responded to this flirtous sin with a sensous giggle and an intense gaze with her black kohled eyes. She raised one of her left fingers to remove few strands of her hair that posed as a hurdle to the lover from a close encounter. She winked again. A gentle dimple formed on her cheeks.

He stroked her hair and drew her closer. Both of them sipped each others’ coffee which brimmed to the full complimenting the heightened cresendo of their love. There was no meaning of their prattles. They were engrossed in mysterious yet unending conversation. Such is the intensity of love, such is the power. It binds two souls with an eternal thread of attachment. A sense of belongingness that clings two hearts together for a time immemorial.

The chairs laid vacant for long for there was nobody except these two love birds. He animatedly drew sketches with his fingers on the table while conversing with her. A loud thunderbolt struck outside. The bright sun was concealed by smoky clouds. A gentle drizzle started followed by a cold breeze. It brought along with it small droplets of water which settled on his eyes. He winked a bit. It interferred in their romantic delusion only to make them realise that their intense love needs a little break only to understand what is happening around. She pepped outside the window panes, looked up and allowed her face to get wet with the season’s first monsoon. Soon, the drizzle changed its form. It started to shower and made their romance warmer.

A sudden silence prevailed all over. Somewhere the two were waiting for this moment. They wanted to seize the opportunity for a perfect love making moment. He decided to make the first move. He sealed his eyes on her lips giving her a subtle hint for the obvious. She understood the sign and responded him back with a gentle nod. A cloak of silence prevailed all over  the deserted café as they brought their lips closer. He raised his right hand and moved his thumb over her soft lips. She took a deep breath and reacted to this sensous endeavour with a passionate kiss.