Wrinkles

That new face cream in the market
Which claims to keep age at Bay
To smoothen out the lines from my face
And to rub the wrinkles away,
Does it not know that I love these lines ?
These crinkles around my eyes.
The little sag of the cheek over my chin,
Are not the things I despise.
Each wrinkle is a age line for me.
Each one, has a story to share.
The laughter lines around my eyes
Shows my victory over despair.
Every bit of sagging skin and tissue
Is a life which happy moments lifted
Every scar and mark of mine
Is the love that life has gifted.
No cream no lotion can ever claim
To erase away any such happy line
I would like to drift away in life
With the sight of your wrinkled hands on mine.

Nought

And suddenly, like snowfall,Nothingness descends.
Wooly clouds are masking the mind
The basket of dreams is rattling around
Sanity and good sense are tough to find.

The bliss of the naught, the null, the nil
The fuzz of the empty head
The charm of the cozy warm blanket
On my favourite side of the bed

The fun of wanting to do just nothing at all !
And a willing heart to follow that !!!
The thrill of shutting the door on chores.
The choice of silence over chitchat.

What an amazing blessing it is !
To be able to travel to nothing land
The foolish happiness of doing nothing,
Only a dreamy soul can understand.

The recipe of romance

Folded pages of yellow paper with your handwriting all over it , 

Stay within my Hawkins recipe book.
On the page which teaches me how to make chana pindi in my pressure cooker, 

I have secured away 6 pages of your friendship.
I know exactly every loop , every curve every emotion that your words take. 

I have kept you preserved forever in those 6 pages.
In the age of instant chats and messages 

I have held on to the romance of your letter.
Long back I have learnt how to make chana pindi , 

yet every time, without fail, 

I open the recipe book. 

Just to touch the words you wrote.

Romance smells like garam masala to me.......

At Wagah....

On the Wagah border today
I met a mango tree
Of deep green leaves
And a gentle sway

It stood proud
Rooted in the Indian soil
It's stem bending
The Pakistani way

Laden with fruits
Bent double with weight
It looked as if
It had a story to say

Maybe it was a proud guy
With honour and valour
With unending bravery
Every night and day

Or maybe just maybe
It had been a confused
Tottering seed which had
Simply lost it's way.....

Aaj mujhe waqt mila

Badi muddat ke baad mujhe shaam ko waqt mila.
Roz ki daud bhaag mein kho sa gaya tha kahin

Mila toh bade adab see maine chai ko poocha
Dar tha, aaj bhi phirse bhaag na jaaye kahin

Jo chai pe baithe dono , toh maine ruthte hue kaha,
Roz milte kyun nahi ho mujhe?  Zara batao to sahi ?

Khair, yun toh roz hi mila  karta hai waqt mujhse,
Par kabhi use phursat nahi kabhi mujhe phursat nahi

Kolkata Morning

It's 5AM on the Kolkata street I am travelling on. Driving through a city coming to life. Slowly. Beautifully.
The street lights are still on , though the sun is bright enough for visibility already.
We pass through sleepy streets to come to a road side marketplace selling old used clothes. The clothesellers are busy setting shop. There are surprisingly many customers milling around. People are busy trying sizes by holding up the garments to their body, and haggling for the price simultaneously.
Rickshaw pullers are busy cleaning and getting their rikshaws ready for the first 'sawari' of the day.
The samosa shop has already started frying fresh batches and kept out yesterday's sweets to be sold at a low price.
The corner paan shop is buzzing with those in need of early morning beedi and paan.
The tea seller walks around hawking with his aluminum kettle and small paper cups. This morning sees him doing the best business of all.
A girl in a lurid yellow dress sits on the pavement. A dress like that, with the kind of make up she wears, makes me take a second look. She looks tired. The eyes with kajal smudges tells her story. She is tired after work just like anyone else. She also went about her business just like all those around her. Yet, she has no place in this 'civilised' market. The milling crowd gives her a wide berth even though they jostle to give her a second look.
The tea seller approaches her. Normally. She asks for a cup of tea, and he gives it to her. He doesn't believe in saying no to business, or maybe he is a gentle soul.
The girl in the yellow dress sits under the unnecessarily bright street light, bearing the scrutiny of men who would prefer she remains in the dark.
But as I said,  the street light is on without reason...the sun has lit up the world equally for all.

Shifting homes

The little piece of plastic rolled out on the floor as the fridge got packed. I watched it in amazement ! How much we had searched and blamed each other the day we lost it and our game became useless. And here it had been, all along, under the fridge.
The lost pencils, toys, socks all made their grand appearances as I packed up my household. Each bit had memories attached,  each piece told a story.
They say, to be attached to things,  is a materialistic way of life. Maybe it is. But I am attached to the life I have lived in those things. I am attached to the curtain rod my lil one brought crashing down on my head, I am attached to the cracked cup with polka dots which my elder one drank his first tea in.

The wall on which we lovingly measured our kids' heights will be repainted soon. The stubborn drip drip of the kitchen tap will never disturb me again...
The torn crayon drawing hangs listlessly as we lock the doors to some awesome memories. As we move away, finally, we say bye bye to a host of images. My lil kids' shadows wave at me as my grown up kids help me load the luggage in the car.

Loyalty ( As narrated by my mom)

I had a househelp by the name of Jhuma a few years back when my kids were much younger. Jhuma came in during afternoons and early evenings when I would lie collapsed on bed, thoroughly exhausted from my day at school. 

I was not the type to chit chat with her, or gossip about the apartment complex centric news. Yet, Jhuma used to chat away to me as she sweeped mopped and dusted my room. I used to hmmm and nod away most of the time. 

She would though, elicit a better response from my mom during her visits. At times I used this 'connect' to send Jhuma to help my mom whenever required, as she stayed close by.

It has been almost two years since I have moved out. Jhuma no longer works for me. Infact , I had sort of deleted her from my memory altogether.

Yesterday on a visit to my mom's place, I came to know that Jhuma still visits my mom. She asks after her health and still talks nineteen to a dozen to my mom.
Last week she told my mom that there were times when my little one never finished his afternoon meal completely. Fearing my ire, he would sneak away to Jhuma to throw out the remainder and clean the plate before I rose from my sleep. 

A tiny anecdote. A small story ......but, this is a story of a friendship I was unaware of. A relationship of compassion and good faith. 

Jhuma eneded the story by holding my mom's hand and begging her not to tell me what my li'l one used to do. She said, " Chota Babu put his trust in me. If you tell Didi and she scolds him, his trust in me will be broken. How will I ever look him in the eye ?"

"Chota Babu" may never meet his Jhuma Didi again. Even if he does, he might not remember the little mischeif where she aided and abetted him. Sitting with a happy foodie tummy  today, that unfinished plate of dal chawal lies forgotten by him 

Jhuma though, remembers this love fondly till date. 

That's the way love is. Unconditional. Loyal. Giving.

Exam Moodies

Exam fever is sapping the fun out of our lives
No matter how seriously this family strives,
For hardwork, honesty and honourable preparations
In pursuit of the perfect recipe for oncoming examinations
We are slipping , sliding, cheating, hiding from each other
The constancy of the harwork a definite bother
Yet we march on with hope in our hearts
Till our peace of mind and sanity departs
That even with the occasional lying and cheats we all do,
The hours of preparation that we are putting ourselves through
Will be just enough to carry us along together
Towards the next class without a worry or bother
That the 'expected' will not be too far from the final score
And for a few days at least we will have to study no more !

☺️☺️☺️

Bestie

I am the best friend in your married life.
As you are in mine.
I am your constant, unbirdled effervescent joy.
When at times life is "just fine".

I am the ready ear for you to chew on,
About random things going on.
I am the solid shoulder for you to lean on,
When nothing else feels strong.

I am the invisible presence in your marital life.
The shouty subconscious bitch.
I am the one to hurl abuses at your spouse.
And offer support without a hitch.

I dream your dreams and feel your fears
I accept you as you are.
I fight for you and by you, with the world
I am your best bet by far.

I poke and prod at all your feelings,
Never ever just letting you be.
Your hopes, your love, your joy , your sorrow,
Are all open for me to see.

I am the best friend in your married life sweetheart,
Your husband has to learn to share.
Coz , come what may my darling bestie
I am never ever going to disappear !!!

The Murderess

Lukewarm tendrils of soap
Danced across the mirror
Steamy swirls of breath
Misted the fuzzy face

Beady blobs of sweat
Ran down the triple frown
The breath came short
And made the heart race

The vermilion knife lay bare
Twisty ribbon trailing blood
The bloched water rivulets
Sullied the porcelain sink

Mad eyes stared vacant
At adrenaline fed fear
Raw itchiness hit hard
On palms scrubbed pink.

Yes, the heart raced
Yes, the breath came short
Yes, the blood lay bare
On the over scrubbed skin

The mad eyes were wide
Mirroring the twisty dark
The reflection was remorseful
Except the chilling grin......

The Ordinary Sun

Everyday as we drive to school these days, the Sun has already peeked out. It's not the 'magical sunrise' time anymore. It is a dull , wintry, insipid Sun, which is sleepily saying 'present ma'am' to the daily roll call. It's not bright and cheery, it's not dreamy and romantic. It's just rolling around lazily, happy about being insignificant.
Yet, as I take the right turn at the corner of my lane, the glazed glass windows of the high-rises are alight with the sun's fire. Like dancing flames, the windows shimmer through my windscreen. I stare mesmerized. Everyday.

I wonder if the 'ordinary' Sun is ever bothered about the attention the 'sunrise' Sun gets. Why should it be ? So what if the entire world doesn't ooh and aah at it ? ...so what ?
The windows of the highrises glimmer only in it's presence. It is the 'only'  sun which matters at that time.
It is not important whether many people love you or admire you, as long as you are the 'one and only' Sun shining in your beloved's life.

Ending with a few lines by Gulzar, about a lazy sun...

थका-थका सूरज जब नदी से होकर निकलेगा
हरी-हरी काई पे, पाँव पड़ा तो फिसलेगा
तुम रोक के रखना, मैं जाल गिराऊँ
तुम पीठ पे लेना, मैं हाथ लगाऊँ.....

Existential Crisis

On Fridays which have been long and tiring, when I look longingly at the weekend and realise that even Saturday is going to be a long working day, the mind does start wondering about the futility of it all. And lo and behold I am staring at an existential crisis !!!
Why am I here ? Why only me ? What is the use of this all ?
Crazy thoughts bounce like chinese ping pong through the brain. The heart wears a smug expression " I told you so! " the mind snatches at thin air to come up with a solid answer to " why all this crazy hardwork?"
Then I pause. Go through some chats, see some pics and breathe. Deeply.
I may not be able to justify the craziness , the hardwork, the running around..., But if I wasn't here, I would not have all those people who love me, with me.
Am I prepared to daydream away my kids, my family, my best friend ? And dream of myself relaxing in some alternate reality ?
It may seem attractive for a few seconds, but I don't wish to exist any other way. I may wish that life was easier , different, but if it was, ....I would be incomplete.

Crisis managed for today I think :)

Wishful Sky

The sky was an unusual pink
On this wintry Thursday
The silent grey mist had abated
Leaving a lot to say

She sat by the window, pensive
Wondering at the sky
Her mind a jumble of emotions
Million 'what ifs' and a single 'why'

A milling world passed her window
Hundered sounds filled the crowd
But lost in her own thoughts 
She found her inner silence loud

Need she try to unravel
Why this silence was so long ?
Or should she just let go
And emerge hard and strong

The pink sky confused her
Appealed to her inner soul
Just when she had accepted being half
The sky had her wishing to be whole....