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.....

Hobbies

My hobbies you ask?
It's quite a task,
To jot those down

Many many things
The mind springs
My  thoughts count

Many books I read,
I love to eat
To Curl my toes and sleep

I love to sing
My steps have a spring
To discuss many issues deep

I cook and I clean
I dress and I preen
I love to incessantly shop

To define what I am
My dulls and my glam
The keys have gone hippety hop

I travel and I drive
To be  fit I strive
Gifts, I like to give

I laugh and I cry
Every moment I try, life
To the fullest to live 😊😊😊

The tree in the show

I was a tree in a show.
When all else were kings and queens,
And were soldiers brave.
I was the tree in that show.

 

When they spoke, sang,
Walked, ran, fought,
Discussing things grave,
I was the tree in that show.

 

They sang and danced.
Romanced poetic lines.
Voices showing shades of gray
I was a tree in that show.

 

I stood one side, gentle.
My body brown with a cap of green.

Some eyes may have caught the sway

Of the only tree in the show

 

But not once that day, or ever in time
I felt low or any less.
I learnt each part as I gently swayed,
Being the only tree in that show

 

When the knight rose to kill the king
With wild passion in his eyes
The audience breath for a moment stayed,
Forgetting the tree in the show

 

Forget he did, the knight his lines
Wild passion turned to panic
Before the stammer could hit his lips
Loudly swayed the tree in the show

 

I whispered the knight, the part I knew
The lines brought back the passion
The king was killed without any slips,

I was a still tree in that show
I was still a tree in that show

 - Piyu

Lazy Saturday

When the lazy sun refuses to wake up
Nudging the floating clouds with his toe,
When the quilt envelopes the whole wide bed
Hiding even the truant pillow
On such a wintry Saturday
With a cup of steaming tea
I curl my toes into the warmth
And switch to the dreamy me.
Oh ! I know the dreary workload
The relentless adult rules
I know the muddle of responsibilities
Understand that I wear big shoes.
But till my tea is still hot
And sun still hides his head
Give me a few more dreamy moments
In my quilt covered , still warm bed

-Piyu