Rainbow

“Everyone wants happiness,
No one wants pain,
But you can't have a rainbow,
Without a little rain”

Bholu ( as narrated by my mom )

My parents are avid travellers, moving about every two months or so. The latest trip in November this year, took them in and around the city of Joy, Kolkata. On this trip they visited a small town called Tarake swar.
Seeped in religion and culture, Tarakeswar is the house of the Taraknath Shiva temple. A swayambhu temple dating back centuries. The picturesque town boasts of quite a few hindu pilgrims, particularly during the festive season.
But this story is not a trip advisor review. What it is though, is a heartwarming tale of  small town India.
As my parents toured the small town in battery operated 'toto' rickshaw, they witnessed, and thoroughly enjoyed the small town life around them. On one such trip in the toto, they came across a gaggle of geese walking along the roadside. Cackling away, the geese created quite an amusing sight. One goose among these was sort of walking away from the crowd and suddenly walked on to  the middle of the road.
Tottering like a happy drunk, the goose proceeded to saunter around on the road.
The traffic stopped respectfully for the truant fellow. Curious, my mom asked the toto driver, why was the goose behaving so strangely ?
"Who ? Bholu? " The toto driver spoke with familiarity. " Bholu doesn't see very well. He is almost blind. So we all stop the traffic to let him cross the roads safely" He spoke with simplicity.
When I heard this story from my mom, after a heartwarming round of laughter, I sat and pondered. In a bustling city in large apartments, we hardly see or speak to people around us. The entire world has shrunk to our mobile screens. I am humbled and put to shame by this small town community which has not only named it's blind goose but is also caring for it in a matter of fact way, as if nothing short of this goodness is expected from all.
I understand that I am sharing this on a virtual platform, but I wish we could move out of this virtual reality and step into the simplicity of life around us.

Five minute friend

Little Kabir made friends with me wordlessly. We sat across a glass wall, me outside the cakery and he inside. More than 30 years separated us, And I couldn't fathom why I had caught his fancy !
We sat surrounded by a world which was busy chatting, walking, eating, reading...While we made hand gestures to each other through the glass wall.
In those five minutes, we smiled, we laughed, we frowned as we tried to lip read. In those five minutes I got more attention than I would get these days from adults lost in their mobile phones.
Little kabir continually gestured for me to join him inside while I kept calling him outside. Finally I walked up at him to know his name and wish him the best. As I said bye bye to this 'five minute five year old' friend, I thanked God. In the morning I had prayed for love and happiness, and in five minutes this little angel had given me both.
Stay happy where ever you are, lil' one❤️

Tea tales

As I sat sipping my cup of tea,
I wondered if others managed to see
My unshed tears my frustrated rants
My unfulfilled dreams my myriad wants

My cup of tea smiled up at me
And told me to make my mind free
It matters not what others see or hear,
For every thing, which I ever hold dear
Is dear only and only to me
Not to friends and all and sundry

Let go of the crazy , mad thoughts
The could have beens and the have nots
The universe is big and karma is sound
Remember what goes around , comes around.

Sunny thoughts

The wintry sun raised his sleepy head
" Has the silly chilly breeze reached here yet ?
Do I have to dry the grass myself? Again ?
I can see that it is still rather wet...

Oh No ! This lazy breezy girl
Wonder when she will learn to be on time
I am sure she is out flirting again
Rustling the leaves of that cheeky lime

I am tired of playing bff to her
She has me stuck in the friend-zone
I think I'd rather charm the Sunflower
Her petals these days are a lovely tone

But, years during the Christmas days
When I throw over the cloud blanket to peek
The silly chilly breeze has my heart wrapped
Her naughty whistle makes my rays weak

One sided love is a tough nut to crack.
Oh dear, will she ever ever be mine ?
Will the earth​ guys , seeing us together,
Ever ever comment that the weather is fine ???

OFBE

I stood outside my body
Ravaged, old, much before time
Wondering what the hell happened ?

My silent screams reached nobody
The pain was poignant but sublime
On realising the scars that time had deepened

I stood with my soul in my hand
Rattling it around for a smile
None of the usual tricks worked anymore

I fervently wished for someone to understand
To hold my hand and walk the mile
To make my heart complete like before.....

-Piyu

Seven Granted

The seven tender rings
Dispelling all fear/
The seven tender steps
Holding you dear

Assertion and dissent
Shown by moving around/
My love and respect
Showing emotions abound

The seven tender bones
Holding the head alight/
The seven life long vows
Held true against all despite

The seven tender bones
Taken for granted/
The seven life long vows
Leaving much wanted

The inflamed neck
The painful stance/
The hurting heart
An emotional dance

How tightly wound
The power of seven
Holds me in it's grasp
Breathing uneven....

The silent cry of pain
The hidden tears
The seven tender bones
Can't no longer dispel fears.....

Not mine...but rings so true

ME TOO

Through the mists of time and from the ruins of history
echo the faint voices
Of the maidens of mythology
like sparks from the dying embers of a fire
Crackling one after the other.

Driven by lust
for the most beautiful of all women
radiant as the moonshine of the moon
Lord Indra, the ruler of the heavens
stalked her for her very sight made him swoon
and made love to her wildly in the dark of the night
pretending to be her husband.
The only witnesses the fireflies shining bright..
Sage Gautam cursed his wife for being a wanton woman
and transformed her into a stone.
Deceived by one man,
repudiated by another
raped and rejected for being raped
she was transfixed to a spot, lifeless
And invisible to all creatures.
Me too, wept Ahalya.

The evil ten-headed Ravana
known for his roving eye(s)
besotted by a beauty
disguised himself as an old hermit
and begged for some food.
When she crossed the lakshman rekha
he caught hold of her hand
grabbed her by her braids
and dragged the screaming woman into his flying chariot
against her will.
Ram her Lord rescued her
but a trial by fire she endured
to prove her chastity
and emerged unsinged.
But yet he who is Purushottam, the best of men
abandoned his pregnant wife , the Pativrata, the best of women
on the complaint of a washerman
for he had to listen to his subjects
But wasn’t his wife his subject too?
The first single mother of the nation
raised her children in isolation.
And the daughter of the earth
Returned to the bosom of her mother.
Me too, cried Sita.

Yajnaseni born of fire
roaring like thunder and fiery like lightning
a dusky lotus-eyed belle with long curly tresses 
staked by her own husband in a game of dice.
Dharmaputra, where was your dharma?
Called a whore by Karna the benevolent,
dragged into court
by her long raven hair
in a blood-stained garment
for she was in that time of the month
and disrobed and humiliated
by the vile Dushashana.
Five husbands and not one rose to protect the young woman
from the vastraharan
Five mighty warriors
emasculated
hung their heads in shame
And then in the sixth decade of her life
By Keechak she was molested again
and her husbands were silent,
they were still the same.
Me too, wailed Draupadi.

By the banks of the Yamuna
to the strains of the flute
Krishna, the stealer of hearts stole the clothes
of innocent nubile maidens
bathing in the river.
And climbed a kadam tree
to spread them on its branches.
The pubescent girls emerged out naked from the river
and implored him to return their clothes.
Shivering and shy,
one hand covering the breasts
and the other placed between the thighs.
The playful Kanha reprimanded them for
bathing naked “Raise your hands in pranam
if you want your clothes back", he said,
and come fetch them alone
one by one.
And so they exposed their bodies
every nook and cranny
to the lustful gaze
of the voyeur.
Oh, but they said he was just a boy
a mischievous little prankster.
Me too, says Radhika
Me too, sighs Lalita
Me too, sobs Chandravalli
Me too, shrieks Indulekha
And one by one all the gopis scream out “Me too”.

And
The immovable earth heaved
Still stones moved
Dry rivers flowed
Dying fires raged
And all the voices
Drowning out
The voice of patriarchy
Reached a deafening pitch
And shouted their
Ignominy
In unison
Me too. #MeToo

~ Jayshree Iyer

Little mistakes

Little mistakes.
Harmless little stumbles.
The biting of tongue,
Apologetic mumbles.

In a serious life,
Of rhyme and reason.
A little cheating,
A bit of treason.

The heart aflutter,
The stolen smile.
The hidden joy,
For a little while.

The sweet pain,
Of a deliberate fall.
Lasting happiness, 
of momentary enthrall.

Life pulls back,
Logic unbent.
The unopened bud dies,
 Romance unspent.

(Extra) Ordinary

I am not a star
No shine in me, no glitter.
An ordinary person by far
Neither too sweet nor bitter.

No extraordinary feat
No amusing stories to tell
The same old tales I repeat
Which by now, I've perfected well.

I am but an ordinary girl,
Upon mundanities I ponder.
But... I allow my life to unfurl,
The ordinary too, with wonder.

So what if I am not a star ?
So what if I don't shine ?
A rolling stone too, may go far
Without a complaint or whine.

Every thing happy or tragic
The daily hum drum around me
Have become tiny drops of magic,
God's miracles, which surround me.

Dance Again

It's ages since the feet had talked
And kissed the ground with love
The spine shook out the lazy bones,
And took on a healthy curve.

The hands moved to the steady rhythm
The feet were tapping on the ground
The hips, the waist, the thighs , the  knees,
With a happy surprise, moved around

It has been years since the body had
Moved to rhythmic Kathak beats.
Years since I felt the euphoria of
Simple 'tatkar' step repeats

A tiny flame of dancing toes
Which had almost ebbed away,
Today on reconnecting with my dance
Has again begun to sway.

Of first love and all that mush....

So I went to see a Sachin Tendulkar biopic movie today, and absolutely loved it. It managed to bring out all range of emotions in me. But this story is not about this movie.......it is about love.

As a young girl growing up in the nineties, I too fell in love. With movies, with fashion, with stories and with stardom.....I was no different from other teenagers. I loved music, Enid Blyton, Aamir Khan, Sushmita Sen.....I am sure you get my drift.
What is surprising is my love for cricket in a Bengali household. So, being a bengali, I am genetically programmed to love football, and I do. Tennis comes a close second. 

The 11 year old me though, fell in love with what India loves, Cricket.

And with cricket came the love for Rahul Dravid. Yes my dears, this post is about Rahul Dravid, the wall, the Jammy, Mr. Good Guy.

Rahul Dravid recieved reverential love from the teenage me. I did it all, scrap books, cutting all pics from all newspapers, writing ghost letters, buying posters from footpaths of CP ( one particular poster on the door of my bathroom managed to irk my father....but then, such is love) .
My heart would skip beats as he batted or licked jam out of a kissan bottle. Oblivious to my existence, he adorned my TV screen, and I wove crazy dreams around him....

So, you must be wondering, what's special ? Everyone has celebrity crushes, and does all this hoo haa haa. 

What's special my dear, is the skipped hearbeats today, as I sat with my husband and watched the Sachin movie in the theatre. On screen , Ajay Jadeja climbs a team bus, and behind him is my skipped heartbeat.

Years have passed, much water has flown under the bridge. Today, as the theatre reverberated with Sachin Sachin, and we celebrated one of India's greatest legends, I sat with my husband and teenager son and grinned like a Cheshire cat. 

How can we expect, at 37, to feel the rush of first love, the heady happiness which makes you smile for no reason ? But I got the unexpected today. I got the happiness of looking at my first love again, and skipping my heartbeat.
It felt AWESOME ❤❤❤

While Waiting

A solitary coffee with a book
A roving eye for occasional look
Li'l wait for loved ones to arrive
The hum of a song to survive
In a  bubble of suspended time
Some emotions, fuzzy , sublime
Me , me and thoughts of mine
A self built paradise divine....

Petrichor

I enjoy language. Correct grammar, wilful usage of words, textured vocabulary, are a huge turn on for me. In the same vein, I can be an irritating sod when it comes to correcting grammatical errors, or simply usage of better words. Mind you, this goes for both English and Bengali. My kids have gotten used to incessant mid sentence corrections whenever we speak.

It is drizzling today. The parched soil is drinking in the water desperately, after days of hot and dry weather. As I stand to sink in the fine weather in my balcony, my son comes and stands next to me. I turn with a smile towards him and say, " I just love the smell of first rain on dry soil"

He looks at me and says, " Petrichor. That's the word you are looking for."

Happiness buoys my heart. In a generation where 'you is U' and 'we is V',  My love for language is going to live on....my kids will carry my madness forward.

Petrichor.
My romantic moment of the day.

For he is a jolly round fellow

Pardon the ramblings of an fickle mind🤗

Without sounding biased or judgemental and without any intention of hurting sentiments, I wish to put forward an observation...
" Rotund people are usually jolly"

There are two guards at my school's parking lot. A round one and a not so round one. The round one is the smiley fellow and the not so round one doesn't smile. I have greeted both with equal cheerfullness everyday, but recieved contrasting responses. This is what has launched the line of thought during a few wasteful hours.

The round Buddha is the laughing budhha while the thinner version is all calm and serene.
We too feel like laughing at the roly polys and never at the well chiselled out people. Maybe the roly polys have developed a defense mechanism of laughing back ?

For the Enid Blyton fans , a comparison of both the mam' zelles in Malory Towers is a case in point. So is the insanely funny 'Po' from Kung fu Panda.

I guess I am a bit defensive myself , being of the 'rotund jolly' category, but isn't it 'food' for thought ? 😁😁😁

A Different Valentine

February, 14th, Delhi,
The traffic crawls ahead.
I find myself surrounded
By a brillaint sea of red

Red balloons,
with ribbons trailing
Bunch of roses
With tassle detailing

Boy in red jacket
With sheepish pride
Holding the red clad
Girl by his side

Happy faces,
Turned to each other
Lowered eyes gently
Looking into another

I turn a trafficked corner
Onto a busy street
Only to be greeted
By a visual treat

A destitute woman
Homeless with her man,
Pulls him along
As fast as she can

They are not in red
No balloon or gift
Clothes are tattered,
Hair is adrift.

But that same look
In their lowered eyes
Catches my breath
With a surprise

The love is the same
Subtly expressed
In the entwined fingers
Gently pressed

Destitute, deranged
With not much to show
Yet they loved each other
I came to know.

-Piyu

Weeds and Roses

The other day, I called the florist to deliver some flowers. The roses, lilies, chrysanthemums arrived soon, packed in tissues and ribbons. I sat with my vases , water and scissors and got down to arranging them.
Hidden among the pretty blooms, the florist had sent some weeds. Bushy green stems with nondescript tiny white flowers. Maybe he wanted to add volume, maybe he felt they would complement the roses...I don't know what he thought, but the weeds just sat there on my bench, messing up the beautiful array of flowers.
Overcome with distaste, I picked up the lot and stuffed them down the bin. The ungainly white flowers looked up sadly as I closed the lid of the dustbin on them.

Later in the day, I was filled with remorse, those weeds were flowers too. Maybe not as pretty as the roses or lilies, but nevertheless, beautiful in their own way. I rushed to check if I could salvage them from the bin...But they had wilted by then. I was sad for a long time.

As a teacher, I know that not every child is at par. Some are the roses and lilies of the class, shining bright, doing well in all fields. But some are the weeds, not so good at anything, but lovely kids nevertheless. How hasty we are at times to shun them and relegate them to the background. By the time we realise our mistake, their self worth has wilted.

Spare a thought for the average and the mediocre. Most of us would be roses in the field of our choice but merely a weedy flower in all other walks of life.....