As she cut the heart-shaped cake placed on the table, their eyes lit up. The youngest of the lot, also the most shy, turned her tiny little face to glance at the cake and the towering grownups who had decided to pay her and her friends a visit.
They didn’t have visitors often. They had a routine. Wake up- school- common lunch- continue with school- come back- study-pray and then sleep. It was the flower girl’s visit they craved for. They would have loved to have the flower girl come there often. She came once a year, smiling and glowing with such elegance that it was hard to forget her. She’s the one who’d make heads turn, wherever she went. Am sure she was the brand ambassador of Iodex (or at least the soul responsible for their sales) what with all the crick in the necks she has been responsible for over the years.
The flower girl was a thinner, more beautiful version of Santa Claus. And what more, she didn’t keep them waiting till December. It was August, the time she blossoms. And the fragrance lingered for a whole year. The cookies tasted lovely, the savories had an extra crunch, the juice overflowed and to top it all, her love was everlasting.
She came with her entourage of reindeer, who were more than just happy to share her magic. “Am just being selfish”, she’d say. But we all knew she was just being way too modest.
It takes a lot of heart to do what she does. Though she’s not the only one in the phase of this planet to do what she does. But it still is a wonderful gesture. Its things like this, which makes her a wonderful person, a nice human being.
This is for the flower girl. A friend, a warm person and an amazing soul.
Happy Blossoming.
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
August 13, 2010
July 14, 2010
Short Series: She
She walked in, hair swaying in the wind, eyes glancing across the half crowded coffee shop, with a bunch of red roses gripped tightly in her hands. A cat whistle shrilled from across the table where she rested her grip on the flowers. A couple of gawky teenagers couldn’t hide their excitement and let their jaw drop (along with the glass of cold coffee) at the sight of the flower girl. She looked up, sharp eyes, lined with kajal, the type that makes the eyes look even more expressive than how it is on a lazy Sunday morning. On second thoughts, the morning face, Sunday or otherwise always wins ‘pants down’.
The flowers found a place on the table and one got to see her fingers, beautifully manicured, the ones that would have experienced the choicest of creams, lotions and moisturizers, the ones that always smelt fresh and felt divine. The ones that were always not too far from sanitizers. The ones that had mehendi on them?
Ah! She is married. About to be married? Or her friend just got married. Yes. That should be the case. Phew! That’s a relief.
She sat down at a table that could accommodate only two people. She is expecting company. The electricity just went off, thanks to the heavy rain. A few drops of rain cascaded down her forehead and fell on the table. She carefully took a tissue from her bag (didn’t even bother looking at the pile of tissues folded and placed on the table in a triangular shape by the waiters) and wiped her face, gently, not ruining the kajal. The heart skips another beat. She folds the tissue and places them next to the flowers.
“I’m there”, she said on the phone, that seemed to have magically sprung out of her bag and planted itself to her ears, when the mind was too busy deciding on her relationship status.
“Oh! Another half hour? Shit”, she cursed. The lips seemed so pure, so bright and so sensuous, that one could never expect words other than love, peace, hope, and bliss, let alone profanity. Those lips were meant for kissing, to be kissed than curse. It looked like a painting, perfect, symmetric, orgasmic with the blood red of her lipstick, like the painters final signature.
The waiter walks up to her table and places a candle and she smiles at him. It’s his lucky day. He walks away and she lights the candle with her lighter. The candle light falls on her face and the heart skips another beat. Her eyes shine. The light keeps shifting, thanks to the wind; it plays a pattern on her face. Her nose ring twinkles. The light is blinding, making me turn my gaze away from her for just a moment.
She is trying to catch the attention of the waiter. Unaware that she has everybody’s attention. She does realize it. She signals him to get her a hot cappuccino; you could see her pinky sticking out, while she signaled.
The coffee arrives in what felt like milliseconds. She looked awkward trying to open the sachet of sugar to add to her coffee. She spills some on the table-the coffee and the sugar. She looked up to see if someone saw her clumsiness.
Her eyes met mine. I smiled. She was still for a moment before a gentle smile escaped her lips. The candle light was playing tricks. The light and shadow was just too much to handle. I gently nodded my head to greet her. She hesitantly waved back.
I went back to scribble on the tissue paper, the one I had in front of me from the moment I came into the coffee shop. I wanted to write something. In fact I wanted to just keep writing. I had something to write about.
The coffee shop began filling up. The rain was getting heavier and water was dripping from the roof above. People were trying to squeeze into any available space. Tables looked crowded. Privacy could be forgotten. At least till the rain stopped. The air smelt wet. The voices became loud and conversations from every table could be heard clearly. No one went near her table. She still stood out. Alone, beautiful and mesmerizing.
Ever so often, I looked up to see her. I just couldn’t stop. I would then smile to myself and then get back to writing. My coffee was getting cold, partly due to the weather and mostly because I never bothered to drink it.
“What? You’re stuck? It’s pouring here and what do you want me to do?” she spoke on the phone once again. Frustration was written all over her forehead. I could see the lines forming on her clear face. She shook her head and disconnected the call. And I’m certain I heard her swear one last time before hanging up the call.
She glanced towards the flowers that were on the table. She picked up a tissue and began scribbling something. A note I thought. She tucked the note to the flowers and called the waiter. She handed him the flowers and said something, the waiter nodded. He went back to the cash counter, carefully holding the flowers. She took a final sip of her coffee and got up, hand held over her head to protect her from the rain and strode out as briskly as she had come in just a while ago.
The heart skipped another beat.
Do I go behind her? Maybe just talk to her? Would I be seeing her again? Questions flooded my brain. I was snapped out of my trance by the waiter.
“Sir, that madam asked me to give these to you”, he said handing me the flowers.
“Would love to read what you have written about me. Coffee tomorrow at 4?” it read with a smiley at the end.
The flowers found a place on the table and one got to see her fingers, beautifully manicured, the ones that would have experienced the choicest of creams, lotions and moisturizers, the ones that always smelt fresh and felt divine. The ones that were always not too far from sanitizers. The ones that had mehendi on them?
Ah! She is married. About to be married? Or her friend just got married. Yes. That should be the case. Phew! That’s a relief.
She sat down at a table that could accommodate only two people. She is expecting company. The electricity just went off, thanks to the heavy rain. A few drops of rain cascaded down her forehead and fell on the table. She carefully took a tissue from her bag (didn’t even bother looking at the pile of tissues folded and placed on the table in a triangular shape by the waiters) and wiped her face, gently, not ruining the kajal. The heart skips another beat. She folds the tissue and places them next to the flowers.
“I’m there”, she said on the phone, that seemed to have magically sprung out of her bag and planted itself to her ears, when the mind was too busy deciding on her relationship status.
“Oh! Another half hour? Shit”, she cursed. The lips seemed so pure, so bright and so sensuous, that one could never expect words other than love, peace, hope, and bliss, let alone profanity. Those lips were meant for kissing, to be kissed than curse. It looked like a painting, perfect, symmetric, orgasmic with the blood red of her lipstick, like the painters final signature.
The waiter walks up to her table and places a candle and she smiles at him. It’s his lucky day. He walks away and she lights the candle with her lighter. The candle light falls on her face and the heart skips another beat. Her eyes shine. The light keeps shifting, thanks to the wind; it plays a pattern on her face. Her nose ring twinkles. The light is blinding, making me turn my gaze away from her for just a moment.
She is trying to catch the attention of the waiter. Unaware that she has everybody’s attention. She does realize it. She signals him to get her a hot cappuccino; you could see her pinky sticking out, while she signaled.
The coffee arrives in what felt like milliseconds. She looked awkward trying to open the sachet of sugar to add to her coffee. She spills some on the table-the coffee and the sugar. She looked up to see if someone saw her clumsiness.
Her eyes met mine. I smiled. She was still for a moment before a gentle smile escaped her lips. The candle light was playing tricks. The light and shadow was just too much to handle. I gently nodded my head to greet her. She hesitantly waved back.
I went back to scribble on the tissue paper, the one I had in front of me from the moment I came into the coffee shop. I wanted to write something. In fact I wanted to just keep writing. I had something to write about.
The coffee shop began filling up. The rain was getting heavier and water was dripping from the roof above. People were trying to squeeze into any available space. Tables looked crowded. Privacy could be forgotten. At least till the rain stopped. The air smelt wet. The voices became loud and conversations from every table could be heard clearly. No one went near her table. She still stood out. Alone, beautiful and mesmerizing.
Ever so often, I looked up to see her. I just couldn’t stop. I would then smile to myself and then get back to writing. My coffee was getting cold, partly due to the weather and mostly because I never bothered to drink it.
“What? You’re stuck? It’s pouring here and what do you want me to do?” she spoke on the phone once again. Frustration was written all over her forehead. I could see the lines forming on her clear face. She shook her head and disconnected the call. And I’m certain I heard her swear one last time before hanging up the call.
She glanced towards the flowers that were on the table. She picked up a tissue and began scribbling something. A note I thought. She tucked the note to the flowers and called the waiter. She handed him the flowers and said something, the waiter nodded. He went back to the cash counter, carefully holding the flowers. She took a final sip of her coffee and got up, hand held over her head to protect her from the rain and strode out as briskly as she had come in just a while ago.
The heart skipped another beat.
Do I go behind her? Maybe just talk to her? Would I be seeing her again? Questions flooded my brain. I was snapped out of my trance by the waiter.
“Sir, that madam asked me to give these to you”, he said handing me the flowers.
“Would love to read what you have written about me. Coffee tomorrow at 4?” it read with a smiley at the end.
November 07, 2009
Bombay- My love
It has always been on my mind. I just can't stop thinking about it. I belong there. I just know it. What have I done about it? Well, as of now, absolutely nothing. And I just want to kick my butt for that. I have told a bunch of people, that they are all talk and absolutely no shit. I could say the same thing about me now, with regards to this one particular topic.
Bombay.
Where do I even begin? The city of dreams. The city of love. The city of challenges. The city that has taught me the way of life. The city where I want to live. The city that has been home away from home. Everytime I think about this city, my heart skips a beat. A smile escapes my lip and am overcome with emotion. I love this city. I love the smell of this city. I love the people. I love the rains. I love the traffic. I love the old, pale buildings. I love vada paav. I love the late night drunken taxi rides. I love the buzz. I love the suburban train rides. I love getting stuck in traffic at 2 in the morning. I love the concept of being in love with this city. I am in love with this city.
Bombay.
The city that never sleeps. The city that doesn't want to sleep. The city that hates sleeping. The madness. A walk from Mehboob studio to my hotel in Pali hills, made me realize the meaning of my life. I don't think I would want to be anywhere else on this planet other than this city. I have done some crazy things in life. Nothing more crazy than my trip to Bombay with just a helmet. It was just another evening. An evening with cousins at a pub which eventually resulted in taking my bike and parking it at the airport parking lot and taking the next flight to Bombay. A sudden trip that eventually turned out to be the best three days of my life. A trip that resulted in meeting a strange but amazing couple who let us stay at their place for the night- the night that we landed in Bombay. A friend who was more than happy to drive us around town and spend time with us. And another friend, who gave me the keys to her sea-side apartment for a day without having a single thought.
Bombay.
Jo barse sapne boond boond
Nainon ko moond moond
Jo barse sapne boond boond
Nainon ko moond moond
Kaise main chaloon, dekh na sakoon
Anjaane raastein.
I can't stop listening to this song. I can't stop being in complete awe with the lyrics. Shayad yahi hai pyaar. I am in love. Again. With this city. With this amazing city.
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
Dheeme bole koi iktara iktara, dheeme bole koi iktara
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
Bombay.
Where do I even begin? The city of dreams. The city of love. The city of challenges. The city that has taught me the way of life. The city where I want to live. The city that has been home away from home. Everytime I think about this city, my heart skips a beat. A smile escapes my lip and am overcome with emotion. I love this city. I love the smell of this city. I love the people. I love the rains. I love the traffic. I love the old, pale buildings. I love vada paav. I love the late night drunken taxi rides. I love the buzz. I love the suburban train rides. I love getting stuck in traffic at 2 in the morning. I love the concept of being in love with this city. I am in love with this city.
Bombay.
The city that never sleeps. The city that doesn't want to sleep. The city that hates sleeping. The madness. A walk from Mehboob studio to my hotel in Pali hills, made me realize the meaning of my life. I don't think I would want to be anywhere else on this planet other than this city. I have done some crazy things in life. Nothing more crazy than my trip to Bombay with just a helmet. It was just another evening. An evening with cousins at a pub which eventually resulted in taking my bike and parking it at the airport parking lot and taking the next flight to Bombay. A sudden trip that eventually turned out to be the best three days of my life. A trip that resulted in meeting a strange but amazing couple who let us stay at their place for the night- the night that we landed in Bombay. A friend who was more than happy to drive us around town and spend time with us. And another friend, who gave me the keys to her sea-side apartment for a day without having a single thought.
Bombay.
Jo barse sapne boond boond
Nainon ko moond moond
Jo barse sapne boond boond
Nainon ko moond moond
Kaise main chaloon, dekh na sakoon
Anjaane raastein.
I can't stop listening to this song. I can't stop being in complete awe with the lyrics. Shayad yahi hai pyaar. I am in love. Again. With this city. With this amazing city.
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
Dheeme bole koi iktara iktara, dheeme bole koi iktara
Gunjasa hai koi iktara iktara, gunjasa hai koi iktara
August 17, 2009
Paati~
I woke up to the vibrating buzz from my phone. I was having a very interesting dream. The anchor had just announced my name and amidst thundering applause and a standing ovation, I was walking towards the stage to collect the National award for the best director (also my fifth award for the night).
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati (Grand mom) to realize her mistake and cut the call.
The scene began to change. I was smiling with pride and had reached the stage by then. Mani Ratnam was standing there with the award in his hand, he smiled as I approached. As I was about to put my hands out to collect the award, the phone in my jeans began to vibrate. Then it starts ringing again and the sound was resonating everywhere. The anchor was staring at me with her mouth wide open. I could hear Big B and Junior B sitting in the front row twitch and squirm in their seats and curse me for not keeping my phone on silent. And then it rang again. And again. Three rings and it got disconnected.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
My Paati has a new mobile phone for the last four months. But she’s still trying to understand how it works. She had always been great with numbers. Be it the ones on her sudoku board or remembering phone numbers. She was good with statistics and scores of cricket matches too. In fact she learnt Hindi listening to the commentary on DD. Her understanding of Hindi numbers is better than most North Indians I know. I remember the time when she used to wake up at 4 in the morning to watch India play Australia in Australia. The match always started at an ungodly hour. She would be up and ready with her kaai- kari (vegetables) spread across in front of her while she settled down to watch the match right from the pitch report and toss. She knew for a fact that I would also be up to watch the game and immediately after the toss; she would call me (I lived in the next house). And would then discuss the strategy of the game and tell me her views on what the wicket looked like and what it might do for the team batting first. I would always tell her that she should have been the coach of the Indian team. Imagine a madisaar clad old lady sitting in the dressing room in front of a laptop making notes during a match. Now that would be a sight.
She loves her 7 children, 8 grand children and 3 great grand children. She is a Rock star. She sings like a dream. She distributes Gokulashtami Bhakshanams in a way that would put mathematicians and statisticians to shame. She loves her TV serials. She loves her cricket even if the match is between Zimbabwe and Bangladesh. For the last four months, I wake up everyday to find a couple of missed calls and a few blank messages from her phone. My name is the first on her address book and she is yet to figure out how to use her phone. It’s a wonderful feeling to wake up to those. Brings a smile on my face.
Paati has a flair for languages. She speaks Tamil, Telugu, Hindi & English with absolute ease. She picked up Telugu from her neighbor in Karakpur. This little girl who stayed next to her house would drop by her house everyday after Thaatha left for work. I still remember the day when I brought my friend home and my paati’s eyes lit up when she knew she spoke Telugu. For the next half an hour the two of them were at it and paati was in full form. Even now she keeps asking me when I would get that friend home again.
There is so much more to my Paati. I could talk about how she religiously gets up in the morning and finishes up the Sudoku from every News Paper. The way she meticulously draws the boxes onto a sheet of paper before she begins to solve the puzzle, the way she makes her thakkali (tomato) rasam, the way she walks around her garden every evening and plucks the jasmine flowers, the way she counts them and walks over to my house to talk to her daughter (my mom) and proudly tell her the count, or the way she calls my mom if she is not in town to tell her about the flowers, the way she sits right in front of the TV so that she could listen to the dialogues better, the way her skin feels all wrinkled and soft, the way she spends time with her grand kids, the way she talks proudly about her grand kids to others.
To my Paati- the most amazing woman I have ever met.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati (Grand mom) to realize her mistake and cut the call.
The scene began to change. I was smiling with pride and had reached the stage by then. Mani Ratnam was standing there with the award in his hand, he smiled as I approached. As I was about to put my hands out to collect the award, the phone in my jeans began to vibrate. Then it starts ringing again and the sound was resonating everywhere. The anchor was staring at me with her mouth wide open. I could hear Big B and Junior B sitting in the front row twitch and squirm in their seats and curse me for not keeping my phone on silent. And then it rang again. And again. Three rings and it got disconnected.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
My Paati has a new mobile phone for the last four months. But she’s still trying to understand how it works. She had always been great with numbers. Be it the ones on her sudoku board or remembering phone numbers. She was good with statistics and scores of cricket matches too. In fact she learnt Hindi listening to the commentary on DD. Her understanding of Hindi numbers is better than most North Indians I know. I remember the time when she used to wake up at 4 in the morning to watch India play Australia in Australia. The match always started at an ungodly hour. She would be up and ready with her kaai- kari (vegetables) spread across in front of her while she settled down to watch the match right from the pitch report and toss. She knew for a fact that I would also be up to watch the game and immediately after the toss; she would call me (I lived in the next house). And would then discuss the strategy of the game and tell me her views on what the wicket looked like and what it might do for the team batting first. I would always tell her that she should have been the coach of the Indian team. Imagine a madisaar clad old lady sitting in the dressing room in front of a laptop making notes during a match. Now that would be a sight.
She loves her 7 children, 8 grand children and 3 great grand children. She is a Rock star. She sings like a dream. She distributes Gokulashtami Bhakshanams in a way that would put mathematicians and statisticians to shame. She loves her TV serials. She loves her cricket even if the match is between Zimbabwe and Bangladesh. For the last four months, I wake up everyday to find a couple of missed calls and a few blank messages from her phone. My name is the first on her address book and she is yet to figure out how to use her phone. It’s a wonderful feeling to wake up to those. Brings a smile on my face.
Paati has a flair for languages. She speaks Tamil, Telugu, Hindi & English with absolute ease. She picked up Telugu from her neighbor in Karakpur. This little girl who stayed next to her house would drop by her house everyday after Thaatha left for work. I still remember the day when I brought my friend home and my paati’s eyes lit up when she knew she spoke Telugu. For the next half an hour the two of them were at it and paati was in full form. Even now she keeps asking me when I would get that friend home again.
There is so much more to my Paati. I could talk about how she religiously gets up in the morning and finishes up the Sudoku from every News Paper. The way she meticulously draws the boxes onto a sheet of paper before she begins to solve the puzzle, the way she makes her thakkali (tomato) rasam, the way she walks around her garden every evening and plucks the jasmine flowers, the way she counts them and walks over to my house to talk to her daughter (my mom) and proudly tell her the count, or the way she calls my mom if she is not in town to tell her about the flowers, the way she sits right in front of the TV so that she could listen to the dialogues better, the way her skin feels all wrinkled and soft, the way she spends time with her grand kids, the way she talks proudly about her grand kids to others.
To my Paati- the most amazing woman I have ever met.
“Paati Mob”, the screen screamed and I knew this was the real thing and smiled. The call got disconnected in three rings, the time it takes for my Paati to realize her mistake and cut the call.
February 13, 2009
Short Series: Milana
She stood there motionless staring into nothingness. She had been standing like that for a while now. The light from the window slowly filtered through and fell on her hair. That was the only source of light in the room. She didn't blink, she didn't move, she didn't talk.
"Welcome back to Tit-for-tat", said a voice shreaking out of the television screen from the adjacent room. Ricardo was watching some meaningless television. He did that to take his mind off things. He was in line to be sent off from work and he didn't like that feeling. He had been working in that company ever since he quit high school. He got married to Milana during that summer. She was pregnant at that time. It was a marriage that happened out of the blue, they didn't plan for it. He was wild, she was beautiful. He got drunk and she got pregnant. Ricardo got kicked out of his house when he told his parents about Milana. They didn't want to support a son who quit high school and his pregnant girlfriend. His parents were very orthodox. They had a good reputation in the neighbourhood.
The baby was crying. The shrill noise shook Ricardo out of the couch. He threw the ciggie down on the floor and got up cursing the baby. "A man can't watch some TV peacefully in this house", he barked while he took a big swig from the beer can he clutched in his hands. The baby was crying in the room next to the TV room. The noise from the TV was louder than the baby. He stormed into the room and lifted the baby from the cradle. "Shut up, you little piece of Shit. Shut up!", he screamed at the baby. "Why the hell do you cry all the time? And your mommy that witch never bothers about you". Milana had stopped talking to Ricardo. It had been 5 months since she uttered a single word to him. She never left the house. She was silent. Her world had crashed. She didn't want to exist... In that house... With that mad man.
"I'm pregnant", said Milana in a soft tone. "What?", Ricardo was shocked to hear those words. "But,how? I mean, I did use it!", he swallowed his words. He didn't know how to react. "I don't know, Ricardo. Maybe it had a hole or something. How am I supposed to know? And moreover condoms are not 100% safe all the time",clutching Ricardo's hands and shivering while she said those words. He was breathing hard. He was still in high school and he didn't know what else to do. He had to do something. He took a few deep breaths and got up and hugged Milana. "Don't worry baby, I shall work something out". He had no clue about what he could do.
"I think I should quit high school, then maybe I could check with Jack at the store to see if I could work there or something", Ricardo told her while repeating those words again louder in his mind, so as to reassure himself. She stood there next to him. Looking into those eyes that seemed like it had gotten pale. Lifeless. Afraid.
He carried the baby in his arms and walked around the house to find something for the little one to eat. He opened the fridge and saw an old packet of milk, lying cold. He brought the packet to his nose to check if it had gotten spoilt. He didn't really care much. He poured the stale milk onto a bottle and shoved it to the baby's mouth. "Eat this. Maybe that would shut you up for a while".
This happened everyday when he was at home. He had to babysit while Milana chose to stay locked up in her room. He wondered if she took care of the baby when he was not around. He knew certainly that she wouldn't bother whether the baby cried or not. That arrogant witch, he thought to himself. The phone rang then and he placed the baby on the couch and went to answer the phone. It was Jack from the store. There was some emergency and he wanted Ricardo to come to the store immediately. Something to leave this mad house, Ricardo thought as he stormed out of the house.
The baby began to cry again. This time with a lot more pain. He had thrown the bottle down and the bottle lay there with it's lid open and sour milk dripping from the opening. Milana had heard the door shut and snapped out of her trance like state. She slowly closed the blinds on her window blocking the little light that was seeping in. She took a deep breath and began to move. Slowly.
She lifted the baby into her arms and held her closely. She looked deep into the baby's eyes. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She gently placed her fingers on the little one's face and wiped her tears. She kissed her soft on her forehead and whispered, "Don't worry my little angel. It's all going to be fine. Mommy's here now".
"Welcome back to Tit-for-tat", said a voice shreaking out of the television screen from the adjacent room. Ricardo was watching some meaningless television. He did that to take his mind off things. He was in line to be sent off from work and he didn't like that feeling. He had been working in that company ever since he quit high school. He got married to Milana during that summer. She was pregnant at that time. It was a marriage that happened out of the blue, they didn't plan for it. He was wild, she was beautiful. He got drunk and she got pregnant. Ricardo got kicked out of his house when he told his parents about Milana. They didn't want to support a son who quit high school and his pregnant girlfriend. His parents were very orthodox. They had a good reputation in the neighbourhood.
The baby was crying. The shrill noise shook Ricardo out of the couch. He threw the ciggie down on the floor and got up cursing the baby. "A man can't watch some TV peacefully in this house", he barked while he took a big swig from the beer can he clutched in his hands. The baby was crying in the room next to the TV room. The noise from the TV was louder than the baby. He stormed into the room and lifted the baby from the cradle. "Shut up, you little piece of Shit. Shut up!", he screamed at the baby. "Why the hell do you cry all the time? And your mommy that witch never bothers about you". Milana had stopped talking to Ricardo. It had been 5 months since she uttered a single word to him. She never left the house. She was silent. Her world had crashed. She didn't want to exist... In that house... With that mad man.
"I'm pregnant", said Milana in a soft tone. "What?", Ricardo was shocked to hear those words. "But,how? I mean, I did use it!", he swallowed his words. He didn't know how to react. "I don't know, Ricardo. Maybe it had a hole or something. How am I supposed to know? And moreover condoms are not 100% safe all the time",clutching Ricardo's hands and shivering while she said those words. He was breathing hard. He was still in high school and he didn't know what else to do. He had to do something. He took a few deep breaths and got up and hugged Milana. "Don't worry baby, I shall work something out". He had no clue about what he could do.
"I think I should quit high school, then maybe I could check with Jack at the store to see if I could work there or something", Ricardo told her while repeating those words again louder in his mind, so as to reassure himself. She stood there next to him. Looking into those eyes that seemed like it had gotten pale. Lifeless. Afraid.
He carried the baby in his arms and walked around the house to find something for the little one to eat. He opened the fridge and saw an old packet of milk, lying cold. He brought the packet to his nose to check if it had gotten spoilt. He didn't really care much. He poured the stale milk onto a bottle and shoved it to the baby's mouth. "Eat this. Maybe that would shut you up for a while".
This happened everyday when he was at home. He had to babysit while Milana chose to stay locked up in her room. He wondered if she took care of the baby when he was not around. He knew certainly that she wouldn't bother whether the baby cried or not. That arrogant witch, he thought to himself. The phone rang then and he placed the baby on the couch and went to answer the phone. It was Jack from the store. There was some emergency and he wanted Ricardo to come to the store immediately. Something to leave this mad house, Ricardo thought as he stormed out of the house.
The baby began to cry again. This time with a lot more pain. He had thrown the bottle down and the bottle lay there with it's lid open and sour milk dripping from the opening. Milana had heard the door shut and snapped out of her trance like state. She slowly closed the blinds on her window blocking the little light that was seeping in. She took a deep breath and began to move. Slowly.
She lifted the baby into her arms and held her closely. She looked deep into the baby's eyes. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She gently placed her fingers on the little one's face and wiped her tears. She kissed her soft on her forehead and whispered, "Don't worry my little angel. It's all going to be fine. Mommy's here now".
January 16, 2009
Short Series: Anniversary
Books, handwritten letters, photographs, records, memories and posters, his life were full of them. He woke up religiously at 6 every morning and went straight to his treasure chest, filled with things which others called old junk, but for him it was his life. It was everything he ever wanted and ever owned. He had lived a life the way he wanted. He was 75 and a widower. It had been 15 years since his wife had passed away and he missed her the most. His two sons had left him long ago and he lived in a small house that he built himself near the lake where he met his wife for the first time 45 years ago. It was the place he proposed marriage and she had said yes.
The treasure chest contained all that means the world to him. Photographs of his wife, his kids, some real close friends and memories from each and every one of his trips. He loved to travel and he ensured he took his wife with him everywhere he went. Old records that he used to listen to all his favorite music from everyday on the gramophone player that adorned his desk. He would start his day with some lovely music that would fill the three rooms that he had in his house. Cofi, his dog was the only other living thing that stayed with him.
Rafi’s voice echoed in the background, as he made his first cup of coffee for the day. He whistled to Cofi to fetch the newspaper that was thrown near the gate by the little boy down the lake who delivered his dose of world news. He settled down on the big easy chair overlooking the lake and began sipping his coffee. His face had a lot of wrinkles. His hair was silky but silver in color. He had aged gracefully. Looking at his face one couldn’t understand him completely. One had to look deeper and deeper, like excavating the real face that hid behind all the layers of wrinkles. It was poetry in motion if you had to analyze the man’s face. After completing the newspaper, he walked up to his treasure chest and took out an album. He had collated it himself. With photographs that spanned many decades. He had also written notes about the places where those pictures had been taken to remind him of all the things beautiful in his life. He saw a picture of his wife, this young gorgeous woman who was 26 at the time when the picture was taken. He gently ran his wrinkled, shaky fingers over the picture, caressed her face and smiled. A drop of tear trickled down from his eyes and changed its course many times before falling on the back of his hand. He scrolled through the many pictures that adorned his album and he did this everyday.
He would then take another paper bag which had all the letters that his wife had written to him when he was in the army. The letters were very brittle, almost had a shade of brownish yellow after all these years. He still loved the smell of his dead wife’s perfume on those letters. He had been in the army a year after he had gotten married and was away from his wife for four years. He still believed that it was those four years that made him realize that she was the one he wanted to spend all his life with. These letters were worth a fortune. Every time he read those letters, he could visualize his wife reading it out to him, speaking to him. He could feel her presence. That’s why he did that everyday. The many names she would address him by, the little fights they had, things that were bothering her in his absence. It was magic.
Today as he was reading those letters, he was overcome with emotion. It was their anniversary. After he was done with the last letter, he closed the box and walked up to the lake. He stood there gazing at the water. He could see his reflection on the water. His eyes were moist. As he kept looking at his reflection, he could see another person next to him. There she was, smiling at him. He whispered, “Happy Anniversary, My love. What would you like to have for lunch”?
The treasure chest contained all that means the world to him. Photographs of his wife, his kids, some real close friends and memories from each and every one of his trips. He loved to travel and he ensured he took his wife with him everywhere he went. Old records that he used to listen to all his favorite music from everyday on the gramophone player that adorned his desk. He would start his day with some lovely music that would fill the three rooms that he had in his house. Cofi, his dog was the only other living thing that stayed with him.
Rafi’s voice echoed in the background, as he made his first cup of coffee for the day. He whistled to Cofi to fetch the newspaper that was thrown near the gate by the little boy down the lake who delivered his dose of world news. He settled down on the big easy chair overlooking the lake and began sipping his coffee. His face had a lot of wrinkles. His hair was silky but silver in color. He had aged gracefully. Looking at his face one couldn’t understand him completely. One had to look deeper and deeper, like excavating the real face that hid behind all the layers of wrinkles. It was poetry in motion if you had to analyze the man’s face. After completing the newspaper, he walked up to his treasure chest and took out an album. He had collated it himself. With photographs that spanned many decades. He had also written notes about the places where those pictures had been taken to remind him of all the things beautiful in his life. He saw a picture of his wife, this young gorgeous woman who was 26 at the time when the picture was taken. He gently ran his wrinkled, shaky fingers over the picture, caressed her face and smiled. A drop of tear trickled down from his eyes and changed its course many times before falling on the back of his hand. He scrolled through the many pictures that adorned his album and he did this everyday.
He would then take another paper bag which had all the letters that his wife had written to him when he was in the army. The letters were very brittle, almost had a shade of brownish yellow after all these years. He still loved the smell of his dead wife’s perfume on those letters. He had been in the army a year after he had gotten married and was away from his wife for four years. He still believed that it was those four years that made him realize that she was the one he wanted to spend all his life with. These letters were worth a fortune. Every time he read those letters, he could visualize his wife reading it out to him, speaking to him. He could feel her presence. That’s why he did that everyday. The many names she would address him by, the little fights they had, things that were bothering her in his absence. It was magic.
Today as he was reading those letters, he was overcome with emotion. It was their anniversary. After he was done with the last letter, he closed the box and walked up to the lake. He stood there gazing at the water. He could see his reflection on the water. His eyes were moist. As he kept looking at his reflection, he could see another person next to him. There she was, smiling at him. He whispered, “Happy Anniversary, My love. What would you like to have for lunch”?
January 08, 2009
The year that was
First up a very Happy New Year to everyone who happens to drop into this mad world every now and then or often. Have a fantastic year ahead and it feels nice to sit down and write something in this space not just coz I enjoy doing it, but also knowing that there are people like you out there who make it worthwhile. Give yourself a nice pat on the back from me.
It has been a little more than four years now since my first post. Four years, wow that sounds like a long time. But it has been one hell of a ride so far. The many blogs I have read over the years, the many people I have had the pleasure of meeting and the interesting conversations I have had with a whole bunch. Nostalgia time has set in again.
2008 has been a year that taught me a lot of things. It was a year where I worked in two agencies and by the end of it, had quit both. It was the year that made me realize that I really don’t want to write ads anymore. It was the year that made me put my foot down and say ‘I want to make films and that’s all I want to do’. It was the year I met her. It was the year of major spiritual journeys. It was the year where I lost him. It was the year when potato land refused my visa. It was the year when I knew I loved her. It was the year I told her I love her. It was the year I was misunderstood. It was the year when I was really happy. It was the year that made me cry. It was the year that made me realize that I hate farewells. It was the year that made me take a helmet and travel to Bombay. It was a beautiful year.
The year started off in a very drunken state. And maybe that’s why the first few months were confusing. I was thinking a lot and I was letting things get to me. Bother me. Upset me. But I guess the fag end of the year made up for all the madness. It was slow, it gave me a lot of time to think and understand my life. It made me strong and it gave me a lot of clarity. It has been a joy ride hence.
It’s 2009. It’s a brand New Year. The year seems like it has a lot in store for me. The year where I hope to prove a few people wrong. To correct my previous statement, I think I hope to prove myself wrong this year. A year where I hope to understand the complexities of Income Tax. A year to hopefully travel out of the country.
I closed my eyes to think about what to write next. These are the images that came into my mind.
Bike rides, music, laughter, family, friends, inspiration, travel, books, food, cooking, you, poetry, love, fun, you, kids, photos, posters, maya, prayer.
Happy 2009.
It has been a little more than four years now since my first post. Four years, wow that sounds like a long time. But it has been one hell of a ride so far. The many blogs I have read over the years, the many people I have had the pleasure of meeting and the interesting conversations I have had with a whole bunch. Nostalgia time has set in again.
2008 has been a year that taught me a lot of things. It was a year where I worked in two agencies and by the end of it, had quit both. It was the year that made me realize that I really don’t want to write ads anymore. It was the year that made me put my foot down and say ‘I want to make films and that’s all I want to do’. It was the year I met her. It was the year of major spiritual journeys. It was the year where I lost him. It was the year when potato land refused my visa. It was the year when I knew I loved her. It was the year I told her I love her. It was the year I was misunderstood. It was the year when I was really happy. It was the year that made me cry. It was the year that made me realize that I hate farewells. It was the year that made me take a helmet and travel to Bombay. It was a beautiful year.
The year started off in a very drunken state. And maybe that’s why the first few months were confusing. I was thinking a lot and I was letting things get to me. Bother me. Upset me. But I guess the fag end of the year made up for all the madness. It was slow, it gave me a lot of time to think and understand my life. It made me strong and it gave me a lot of clarity. It has been a joy ride hence.
It’s 2009. It’s a brand New Year. The year seems like it has a lot in store for me. The year where I hope to prove a few people wrong. To correct my previous statement, I think I hope to prove myself wrong this year. A year where I hope to understand the complexities of Income Tax. A year to hopefully travel out of the country.
I closed my eyes to think about what to write next. These are the images that came into my mind.
Bike rides, music, laughter, family, friends, inspiration, travel, books, food, cooking, you, poetry, love, fun, you, kids, photos, posters, maya, prayer.
Happy 2009.
December 12, 2008
Short Series - The letter
I don’t think I can stop thinking about you. In fact I don’t think I want to….
He sat down in a coffee shop and began writing a note to her.
There have been times in my life when I have met a lot of people. Some have stayed on for a while and some left in a hurry. But you’re the one person whom I love (d) with all my heart and I don’t think I have ever felt this way before.
I have wanted to do this for a while now, but never really got along doing it. Enough is enough. Today, I just want you to know how I feel about you.
Taking a deep drag from his cigarette he continued writing.
I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight. Because my feeling towards you had already started before I even met you. I saw you smiling when I saw a text from you; I pictured the glint in your eyes when you laughed while talking to me on the phone. The way you spoke to me in your mails, I could sense your presence next to me and the words flowing effortlessly. Meeting you was the only thing left.
The cigarette had gone off by then. He lit it again and chucked the matchstick aside. Looking at the smoke, he smiled to himself and exhaled the smoke. His eyes were moist.
What is it that am going through? If I have to put words to this feeling that am experiencing, it would have to be ‘Peaceful Pain’. I feel happy every time I think about you and it’s painful when you are not here with me. I want you to see how happy you make me and I want to see that smile on your face. I know I can make you smile.
Would she even read this? Would she understand? Those were his thoughts. He stopped writing. He read the lines again and again. Slowly and then he read it out loud. He paused and stopped in places where he wanted her to stop. He closed his eyes and saw her. A smile escaped his lips. She still had this spell on him.
I remember the time when we sat in my house and spoke. About life, about the many things we want to do in life, about our goals. I remember the passion in your eyes when you told me the things you wanted to do in life. It all seems like yesterday that you were with me and now when I think about it, it has already been a while since I saw you or heard from you.
He was feeling emotional now. His hands were trembling. The third cup of coffee that he had ordered was now cold and almost over. The packet of cigarettes that was on the table next to him was almost over. He closed his eyes again and was thinking about what to write next. He slipped into a zone, a comfortable zone and was shaken back to reality when a car began honking loudly. He settled down and continued writing.
I want you to know that I will always be there for you and I want you to be happy in life. I want you to go out there and achieve everything that you always wanted to. I want you to know that everything that I have ever told you I meant with all my heart. I want you to…I want you.
He took one long look at the letter and sighed. He folded the letter and scribbled 23 on the back of the cover.
He placed the cover in a bag. There were a bunch of covers in that bag. He placed this one next to number 22.
He sat down in a coffee shop and began writing a note to her.
There have been times in my life when I have met a lot of people. Some have stayed on for a while and some left in a hurry. But you’re the one person whom I love (d) with all my heart and I don’t think I have ever felt this way before.
I have wanted to do this for a while now, but never really got along doing it. Enough is enough. Today, I just want you to know how I feel about you.
Taking a deep drag from his cigarette he continued writing.
I wouldn’t say it was love at first sight. Because my feeling towards you had already started before I even met you. I saw you smiling when I saw a text from you; I pictured the glint in your eyes when you laughed while talking to me on the phone. The way you spoke to me in your mails, I could sense your presence next to me and the words flowing effortlessly. Meeting you was the only thing left.
The cigarette had gone off by then. He lit it again and chucked the matchstick aside. Looking at the smoke, he smiled to himself and exhaled the smoke. His eyes were moist.
What is it that am going through? If I have to put words to this feeling that am experiencing, it would have to be ‘Peaceful Pain’. I feel happy every time I think about you and it’s painful when you are not here with me. I want you to see how happy you make me and I want to see that smile on your face. I know I can make you smile.
Would she even read this? Would she understand? Those were his thoughts. He stopped writing. He read the lines again and again. Slowly and then he read it out loud. He paused and stopped in places where he wanted her to stop. He closed his eyes and saw her. A smile escaped his lips. She still had this spell on him.
I remember the time when we sat in my house and spoke. About life, about the many things we want to do in life, about our goals. I remember the passion in your eyes when you told me the things you wanted to do in life. It all seems like yesterday that you were with me and now when I think about it, it has already been a while since I saw you or heard from you.
He was feeling emotional now. His hands were trembling. The third cup of coffee that he had ordered was now cold and almost over. The packet of cigarettes that was on the table next to him was almost over. He closed his eyes again and was thinking about what to write next. He slipped into a zone, a comfortable zone and was shaken back to reality when a car began honking loudly. He settled down and continued writing.
I want you to know that I will always be there for you and I want you to be happy in life. I want you to go out there and achieve everything that you always wanted to. I want you to know that everything that I have ever told you I meant with all my heart. I want you to…I want you.
He took one long look at the letter and sighed. He folded the letter and scribbled 23 on the back of the cover.
He placed the cover in a bag. There were a bunch of covers in that bag. He placed this one next to number 22.
December 11, 2008
Short Series- Showdown
‘There is no us. There never was. And please don’t call me again or try and meet me. It’s over’. Those were her final words. He could still feel the intensity of her voice, the look in her eyes. It ended as suddenly as it had started.
‘I have always wanted to show you this place’, Anoop said while holding Maya’s hands. It was love at third sight for Anoop. He saw Maya for the first time at a friend’s wedding. She was the bridesmaid and Anoop just had to be the best man. They hit it off so well like young teenage girls in a washroom. They had so much to talk about and so many things to explore.
‘I don’t get it man, you see a girl and you know her for three days and you say you’re in love’? Avinash barked at Anoop. That was the second showdown in as many days between the two men. Anoop had made his mind. He was ready to leave everything for his love. His true love.
Maya was everything that Anoop ever wanted in a girl. In fact Maya was someone who everyone would fall for in an instant. It had to be her eyes. Those big brown eyes, sparkling like a rare diamond every time a smile escaped her lips. Her hair falling soft on her thin face. The way she nonchalantly brushed those thin strands off her eyes with her fingers. The nose ring… Maya was sensual.
The last three days had been the best three days of Anoop’s life. He had never felt this way before. He had never felt attracted to someone so much before and here he was smitten completely by the beautiful Maya.
It was on the fourth day of their time together when they decided to go on a drive. Maya loved long drives, sunsets and the mountains. Anoop decided to surprise her when he showed up at her doorstep at 4 in the evening with some lovely orchids. He could see how happy she was to see him there. Her surprise was made even more fruitful when Anoop asked her to get into his car and they drove away towards Anoop’s farmhouse near Malay Hills, a 100km journey from Maya’s house.
The music in the car was Maya’s favorite. Anoop made it a point to do everything to please his lady love. He had remembered in detail every little piece of information that Maya had given him in the time that they spent together.
Anoop had his eyes locked into Maya’s expressive eyes and for what seemed like ages didn’t want to look elsewhere. Then it happened. Crash! A loud thud and the windshield came crashing in close to their face. Anoop ducked to avoid the broken glass from hitting his face and Maya. He turned around to figure out what had just happened and he brought the car to a screeching halt.
There was blood all around the car, the windshield, the seat and on the tar road near the car. What did he just hit? Anoop got out of the car and stood there confused, shivering and sweating profusely. ‘Maya are you alright?’ he asked. Maya. Maya. Where was she? What happened to her?
Maya was lying motionless in the next bed next to Anoop. She refused to talk to anyone. She had a fracture on her leg and bruises on her pretty face and elbows. Anoop on the other hand had three stitches on his chin and a dislocated elbow.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt that man. I didn’t see him there’, Anoop was trying really hard to convince Maya of the unfortunate incident. ‘You didn’t see him there coz you were not looking Anoop. You were supposed to look at the damn road’, Maya was trying to make her point across, but barely managing a squeal. It was a difficult time for both of them. And they were dealing with it in the way they knew. Their friends decided to stay out of it and left the two alone in their beds and walked away promising to come and look them up the next day.
For three months after the accident, Maya refused to neither meet Anoop nor answer his calls. Anoop was left wondering why Maya was acting this way and he was feeling let down, disappointed and deeply hurt with the whole turn of events.
And the day when they did meet it made Anoop’s world crash in front of him, with him feeling sucked in with great force. Maya had come to his house on a Saturday evening dressed like she would on any given day. Lovely, sensuous and breathtaking. She stormed out of her car and walked towards the door. Anoop was on a phone call with a client and he stepped out with a cup of coffee and the phone to his ear. He saw Maya and didn’t know how to react. He could barely talk on the phone. He was overcome with emotion and it was a surprise that he didn’t think would ever happen. ‘I guess I might have to call you back’, Anoop managed to speak these words to the client who was on the line and disconnected the call and placed the cup of coffee on the table next to him and walked slowly towards her.
Anoop gave her a soft smile. Maya looked cold. She seemed cold and she acted extremely different.
‘There is no us. There never was. And please don’t call me again. It’s over’. Those were her final words. It ended as suddenly as it had started.
‘I have always wanted to show you this place’, Anoop said while holding Maya’s hands. It was love at third sight for Anoop. He saw Maya for the first time at a friend’s wedding. She was the bridesmaid and Anoop just had to be the best man. They hit it off so well like young teenage girls in a washroom. They had so much to talk about and so many things to explore.
‘I don’t get it man, you see a girl and you know her for three days and you say you’re in love’? Avinash barked at Anoop. That was the second showdown in as many days between the two men. Anoop had made his mind. He was ready to leave everything for his love. His true love.
Maya was everything that Anoop ever wanted in a girl. In fact Maya was someone who everyone would fall for in an instant. It had to be her eyes. Those big brown eyes, sparkling like a rare diamond every time a smile escaped her lips. Her hair falling soft on her thin face. The way she nonchalantly brushed those thin strands off her eyes with her fingers. The nose ring… Maya was sensual.
The last three days had been the best three days of Anoop’s life. He had never felt this way before. He had never felt attracted to someone so much before and here he was smitten completely by the beautiful Maya.
It was on the fourth day of their time together when they decided to go on a drive. Maya loved long drives, sunsets and the mountains. Anoop decided to surprise her when he showed up at her doorstep at 4 in the evening with some lovely orchids. He could see how happy she was to see him there. Her surprise was made even more fruitful when Anoop asked her to get into his car and they drove away towards Anoop’s farmhouse near Malay Hills, a 100km journey from Maya’s house.
The music in the car was Maya’s favorite. Anoop made it a point to do everything to please his lady love. He had remembered in detail every little piece of information that Maya had given him in the time that they spent together.
Anoop had his eyes locked into Maya’s expressive eyes and for what seemed like ages didn’t want to look elsewhere. Then it happened. Crash! A loud thud and the windshield came crashing in close to their face. Anoop ducked to avoid the broken glass from hitting his face and Maya. He turned around to figure out what had just happened and he brought the car to a screeching halt.
There was blood all around the car, the windshield, the seat and on the tar road near the car. What did he just hit? Anoop got out of the car and stood there confused, shivering and sweating profusely. ‘Maya are you alright?’ he asked. Maya. Maya. Where was she? What happened to her?
Maya was lying motionless in the next bed next to Anoop. She refused to talk to anyone. She had a fracture on her leg and bruises on her pretty face and elbows. Anoop on the other hand had three stitches on his chin and a dislocated elbow.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt that man. I didn’t see him there’, Anoop was trying really hard to convince Maya of the unfortunate incident. ‘You didn’t see him there coz you were not looking Anoop. You were supposed to look at the damn road’, Maya was trying to make her point across, but barely managing a squeal. It was a difficult time for both of them. And they were dealing with it in the way they knew. Their friends decided to stay out of it and left the two alone in their beds and walked away promising to come and look them up the next day.
For three months after the accident, Maya refused to neither meet Anoop nor answer his calls. Anoop was left wondering why Maya was acting this way and he was feeling let down, disappointed and deeply hurt with the whole turn of events.
And the day when they did meet it made Anoop’s world crash in front of him, with him feeling sucked in with great force. Maya had come to his house on a Saturday evening dressed like she would on any given day. Lovely, sensuous and breathtaking. She stormed out of her car and walked towards the door. Anoop was on a phone call with a client and he stepped out with a cup of coffee and the phone to his ear. He saw Maya and didn’t know how to react. He could barely talk on the phone. He was overcome with emotion and it was a surprise that he didn’t think would ever happen. ‘I guess I might have to call you back’, Anoop managed to speak these words to the client who was on the line and disconnected the call and placed the cup of coffee on the table next to him and walked slowly towards her.
Anoop gave her a soft smile. Maya looked cold. She seemed cold and she acted extremely different.
‘There is no us. There never was. And please don’t call me again. It’s over’. Those were her final words. It ended as suddenly as it had started.
August 31, 2008
I Hope I don't fall in love with you
It's just strange. This feeling.
Too fast too furious.
But love every bit of it.
Why does this have to happen?
Why now?
Meant to be?
Another way to get hurt?
Been there. Seen that.
Is it?
Maybe not.
But could be.
Should it?
Instincts say otherwise.
Heart is all over the place.
Mind is a bit clogged.
Fingers seem to be doing overtime.
Smiles & tears are the same family.
Fear is just an angry relative.
Too fast too furious.
But love every bit of it.
Why does this have to happen?
Why now?
Meant to be?
Another way to get hurt?
Been there. Seen that.
Is it?
Maybe not.
But could be.
Should it?
Instincts say otherwise.
Heart is all over the place.
Mind is a bit clogged.
Fingers seem to be doing overtime.
Smiles & tears are the same family.
Fear is just an angry relative.
June 12, 2008
Kannamma
The great poet Bharathi who lived in Tamilnadu wrote lot of poems addressing Kannamma his sweetheart. "Kan" in Tamil means eye and Kannamma is the darling who is as precious as the eye or 'the apple of my eye'. Possibly this is one of his all time best. There is something magical about the word kannamma. Everytime I say it.. There is a twinkle in my eye, joy in my heart and happiness in my soul. There is no other word that has the same effect on me like this one.. A special tribute.
Here is an English translation of the poem.
I am the rushing light to you,
And you are the eyes that see for me.
I am honey that spreads sweetness to you,
And you are the honey bee to me,
Words do not form in my mouth,
To describe all that is good in you,
And let all that is good in you flourish for ever.
Oh my darling Kannamma,
Who is the shining light of the sky,
And who is the brimming nectar of the world,
You are the musical Veena to me,
And I am the fingers that play on it to you,
You are the golden chain that is worn to me,
And I am the new dazzling diamond to you,
Whichever side I see,
I see the light of your eyes.
Oh Kannamma, who is the great kingdom of life,
And who is the basis of all my living.
You are the rain that pours from the sky to me,
And I am the pretty colored peacock to you,
You are the drink to me,
and I am the cup to you,
Luster of knowledge shines from your shining face, my darling.
Oh Kannamma, who is a beauty without any faults,
And who is the taste that drips inside my mouth.
You are the white full moon to me,
And I am the spreading sea to you,
You are the beats of the music to me,
And I am the taste of music to you,
There is no limit to your taste , my darling,
Even when I think and think again.
Oh darling Kannamma, who is like the pretty eye,
And who is the nectar that is packed,
You are the breeze that flows to me.
I am the flower that opens to you,
You are the words that I speak to me,
And I am the words that ring in your heart to you ,
How will I describe your beauty, Oh my darling ,
who is the ray of the sky that loves,
Oh darling Kannamma who is the wine of love
And who is the endless taste.
You are the love to me ,
And I am the magnet to you,
You are the holy books of Veda to me,
And I am the blissful knowledge to you.
Oh my darling Kannamma who is a great soul,
Whose taste ebbs when I am in passion,
And who is of the form of music.
You are my soul Kannamma,
And I am your heart beat, Kannamma,
You are like the wealth to me , Kannamma,
And I am like the fund that is saved to you,
Oh beauty which can never be measured,
Oh rays of gold that spreads everywhere,
Oh darling whose smile is like a blossom of jasmines.
Oh Kannamma , who is the pleasure that beats like waves..
You are the twinkling stars to me,
And I am the cool full moon to you,
You are the valor to me,
And I am your victory,
Oh Kannamma, nectar of my mind,
You are the sweetness of the entire world and the heaven,
Rolled in to one person , Oh darling.., mine.
Here is an English translation of the poem.
I am the rushing light to you,
And you are the eyes that see for me.
I am honey that spreads sweetness to you,
And you are the honey bee to me,
Words do not form in my mouth,
To describe all that is good in you,
And let all that is good in you flourish for ever.
Oh my darling Kannamma,
Who is the shining light of the sky,
And who is the brimming nectar of the world,
You are the musical Veena to me,
And I am the fingers that play on it to you,
You are the golden chain that is worn to me,
And I am the new dazzling diamond to you,
Whichever side I see,
I see the light of your eyes.
Oh Kannamma, who is the great kingdom of life,
And who is the basis of all my living.
You are the rain that pours from the sky to me,
And I am the pretty colored peacock to you,
You are the drink to me,
and I am the cup to you,
Luster of knowledge shines from your shining face, my darling.
Oh Kannamma, who is a beauty without any faults,
And who is the taste that drips inside my mouth.
You are the white full moon to me,
And I am the spreading sea to you,
You are the beats of the music to me,
And I am the taste of music to you,
There is no limit to your taste , my darling,
Even when I think and think again.
Oh darling Kannamma, who is like the pretty eye,
And who is the nectar that is packed,
You are the breeze that flows to me.
I am the flower that opens to you,
You are the words that I speak to me,
And I am the words that ring in your heart to you ,
How will I describe your beauty, Oh my darling ,
who is the ray of the sky that loves,
Oh darling Kannamma who is the wine of love
And who is the endless taste.
You are the love to me ,
And I am the magnet to you,
You are the holy books of Veda to me,
And I am the blissful knowledge to you.
Oh my darling Kannamma who is a great soul,
Whose taste ebbs when I am in passion,
And who is of the form of music.
You are my soul Kannamma,
And I am your heart beat, Kannamma,
You are like the wealth to me , Kannamma,
And I am like the fund that is saved to you,
Oh beauty which can never be measured,
Oh rays of gold that spreads everywhere,
Oh darling whose smile is like a blossom of jasmines.
Oh Kannamma , who is the pleasure that beats like waves..
You are the twinkling stars to me,
And I am the cool full moon to you,
You are the valor to me,
And I am your victory,
Oh Kannamma, nectar of my mind,
You are the sweetness of the entire world and the heaven,
Rolled in to one person , Oh darling.., mine.
June 05, 2008
Muse
As she stepped out of the passenger seat of the car, the engine came to a halt. The rattling of the windows and the cacophony that was on earlier had stopped. Time didn't.
It was just three days ago that she had flown down. He had been visualizing her arrival, the smile on her face, the look in her eyes, the way her hair would cascade down her forehead and the way she would tie it in a bun when it did, the conversations they would have and the hugs they would share. He was a dreamer, she was full of surprises. He was a lover, she was a mystery. He was her friend, she was his destiny.
There was a little bit of tension during the drive to the airport. Words were spoken less, but lots were communicated between the two. The gentle music playing in the car stereo was enough to bring a smile on her face. As he was concentrating on the road, his mind was racing. What would it be like in a few minutes from now? How would he feel when she gets down from the car and boards her flight? Are things going to be the same? Questions like this, he thought always came at the right time. Made him come back to earth. He had always been someone who walked around with his emotions on his sleeve. He never held back. He spoke his mind. She was no different.
They had been friends for a while. But their bond felt like they had known each other forever. Their friendship blossomed because of their love for words, their passion to explore, their aim to make it big and their drive to achieve.
"Kannamma", his soft voice called out to her. She turned around with the innocence in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. The sudden rush of blood to his temples made him lose it for just a bit and it showed. The car swerved to the right and the driver of the adjacent car on the road gave him the look. "I had a wonderful time", she said. And when you see those eyes when she spoke, you would know that she meant it. He smiled, placing his hands on hers. There was silence once again. The song changed.
"You better be free when I come," she had told him before she came. Without a blink of an eye he had said yes. But he knew his work had its own special way of messing things up for him. But her presence, he felt would change everything for him. He had always been the hardworking type. Work was always something that he was proud of. He was passionate about. And he knew that she was too. In fact, even more than his. He would sit in the terrace atop his house, with the cold monsoon winds caressing his face. He would sit with his legs folded, his hands wrapped around his knees, looking up into the sky and seeing the stars. He would think about how she loved her work, about how proud she made him feel with the kind of things she had achieved. "You still have a long way to go Kannamma," he would constantly tell her. And she knew what he meant.
"Things are going to be different in a few years from now and I don't have much time", she said sipping on her cold coffee. The cream from the coffee left a trail around her lips. She took time between her words. And every pause from her made him realize the depth behind those words. His eyes completely meeting hers and his hand on hers. He would gently run his fingers on the back of her hand in a reassuring way telling her it was all going to be ok. She had her own thoughts. He felt like he didn't know what was going on in her head. He wanted to. He wanted to be a part of her world. The world that was making her say those things.
The phone beeped. The light was shining and he ran to see what the message said. "Come soon. Am waiting for you", it said. Without him trying to do anything he smiled. It was instinctive. Even if the whole world had come crashing down at that time, he wouldn't have cared less. He was happy. There way joy and lots of it at that.
The drive to the airport took longer than she had expected. But for him every wrong turn he took, was in a way giving him an extra five minutes with her. He had always been good with directions. But somehow he didn't get it right this time. Maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he didn't try hard enough. Well, there are more questions to think about on his drive back, he chuckled to himself.
'It's cold", she said, shivering in the cold night standing on the highway. The tiny plastic tea cup clutched between her fingers. Her face turning a shade white thanks to the chill air and he could see a hint of a pink spot on the tip of her nose. "The tea is hot though", she said and smiled. He was standing next to her, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. "Take your time love. We have all the time in the world", he said. She looked at him sipping on the tea and smiled. The traffic on the road was less and there was not much noise. One could hear the cold wind.
“Cleaned you guys up didn’t I?” she said and laughed loudly. She was rubbing her hands in glee before taking all the monopoly money that was used as poker chips. He was a silent observer. He loved the game, but there was no doubt what he loved more. He walked up to the door and stood there outside the house while he heard voices from the group inside the house. The sky was clear and the few stars that were visible were shining bright. He wondered where the other stars were. “Iyer,” a voice called out getting him out of the world of questions that he was getting into. He turned back to see her standing there blowing him a little kiss and smiling beckoning him to come next to her. He just walked slowly, all the while looking at her, at how happy she was and how happy she made him.
He had told her before to not worry about anything in life smile. “Rubbish,” she would say nonchalantly. He wanted her to understand that he was always going to be there for her. “Life is not all rosy and you know it as well” she would say when ever he said something about just taking it easy. She had so many things in that little head of hers.
He received a telephone and he left work. The bike ride to the coffee shop had him thinking again. Standing at a traffic signal, he was just playing back the happenings of the last few days that he had spent with her. The smiles, the words, the emotions, the sharing, the caring, he could go on with those thoughts. Another call on his phone made him snap out of the new world that he had found. The world that was for him and her with the others entering and leaving the stage were like actors.
“Your latte sir”, the waiter called out. He loved coffee and he loved spending time in coffee shops. She did too. It was all these, the number of things they had in common that made him smile and wonder where she had been all these years. After taking a gentle sip on his cup, he looked up to see her. She was lost in her own world. She wanted to go home. She wanted to get back to her world. She was missing her life. He knew that there was much that he could do to help, he felt bad for her. It broke his heart to see her upset or sad. There was no way he would let that happen. Not before, not then, never.
He sat in the car and wore the seatbelt. He knew he needed support for this drive. He had a sinking feeling. He knew this was the hardest thing he had ever done. He hated goodbyes. He was never comfortable with them. Somehow he just didn’t want to let go. He just didn’t want her to go. They reached the airport and she had made it right on time. This was the moment. She stepped out of the passenger seat of the car; the engine came to a halt. The rattling of the windows and the cacophony that was on earlier had stopped. She walked away with her little bag, dragging those wheels on the concrete floor. He stood there looking at her. She never stopped, his feelings never stopped.
Time didn't stop.
He got back in the car, holding back his emotions, holding back his thoughts, holding back… when he heard a beep on his phone “I had a lovely time. You are very special to me. Will call you once I land.”
It was just three days ago that she had flown down. He had been visualizing her arrival, the smile on her face, the look in her eyes, the way her hair would cascade down her forehead and the way she would tie it in a bun when it did, the conversations they would have and the hugs they would share. He was a dreamer, she was full of surprises. He was a lover, she was a mystery. He was her friend, she was his destiny.
There was a little bit of tension during the drive to the airport. Words were spoken less, but lots were communicated between the two. The gentle music playing in the car stereo was enough to bring a smile on her face. As he was concentrating on the road, his mind was racing. What would it be like in a few minutes from now? How would he feel when she gets down from the car and boards her flight? Are things going to be the same? Questions like this, he thought always came at the right time. Made him come back to earth. He had always been someone who walked around with his emotions on his sleeve. He never held back. He spoke his mind. She was no different.
They had been friends for a while. But their bond felt like they had known each other forever. Their friendship blossomed because of their love for words, their passion to explore, their aim to make it big and their drive to achieve.
"Kannamma", his soft voice called out to her. She turned around with the innocence in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat. The sudden rush of blood to his temples made him lose it for just a bit and it showed. The car swerved to the right and the driver of the adjacent car on the road gave him the look. "I had a wonderful time", she said. And when you see those eyes when she spoke, you would know that she meant it. He smiled, placing his hands on hers. There was silence once again. The song changed.
"You better be free when I come," she had told him before she came. Without a blink of an eye he had said yes. But he knew his work had its own special way of messing things up for him. But her presence, he felt would change everything for him. He had always been the hardworking type. Work was always something that he was proud of. He was passionate about. And he knew that she was too. In fact, even more than his. He would sit in the terrace atop his house, with the cold monsoon winds caressing his face. He would sit with his legs folded, his hands wrapped around his knees, looking up into the sky and seeing the stars. He would think about how she loved her work, about how proud she made him feel with the kind of things she had achieved. "You still have a long way to go Kannamma," he would constantly tell her. And she knew what he meant.
"Things are going to be different in a few years from now and I don't have much time", she said sipping on her cold coffee. The cream from the coffee left a trail around her lips. She took time between her words. And every pause from her made him realize the depth behind those words. His eyes completely meeting hers and his hand on hers. He would gently run his fingers on the back of her hand in a reassuring way telling her it was all going to be ok. She had her own thoughts. He felt like he didn't know what was going on in her head. He wanted to. He wanted to be a part of her world. The world that was making her say those things.
The phone beeped. The light was shining and he ran to see what the message said. "Come soon. Am waiting for you", it said. Without him trying to do anything he smiled. It was instinctive. Even if the whole world had come crashing down at that time, he wouldn't have cared less. He was happy. There way joy and lots of it at that.
The drive to the airport took longer than she had expected. But for him every wrong turn he took, was in a way giving him an extra five minutes with her. He had always been good with directions. But somehow he didn't get it right this time. Maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he didn't try hard enough. Well, there are more questions to think about on his drive back, he chuckled to himself.
'It's cold", she said, shivering in the cold night standing on the highway. The tiny plastic tea cup clutched between her fingers. Her face turning a shade white thanks to the chill air and he could see a hint of a pink spot on the tip of her nose. "The tea is hot though", she said and smiled. He was standing next to her, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. "Take your time love. We have all the time in the world", he said. She looked at him sipping on the tea and smiled. The traffic on the road was less and there was not much noise. One could hear the cold wind.
“Cleaned you guys up didn’t I?” she said and laughed loudly. She was rubbing her hands in glee before taking all the monopoly money that was used as poker chips. He was a silent observer. He loved the game, but there was no doubt what he loved more. He walked up to the door and stood there outside the house while he heard voices from the group inside the house. The sky was clear and the few stars that were visible were shining bright. He wondered where the other stars were. “Iyer,” a voice called out getting him out of the world of questions that he was getting into. He turned back to see her standing there blowing him a little kiss and smiling beckoning him to come next to her. He just walked slowly, all the while looking at her, at how happy she was and how happy she made him.
He had told her before to not worry about anything in life smile. “Rubbish,” she would say nonchalantly. He wanted her to understand that he was always going to be there for her. “Life is not all rosy and you know it as well” she would say when ever he said something about just taking it easy. She had so many things in that little head of hers.
He received a telephone and he left work. The bike ride to the coffee shop had him thinking again. Standing at a traffic signal, he was just playing back the happenings of the last few days that he had spent with her. The smiles, the words, the emotions, the sharing, the caring, he could go on with those thoughts. Another call on his phone made him snap out of the new world that he had found. The world that was for him and her with the others entering and leaving the stage were like actors.
“Your latte sir”, the waiter called out. He loved coffee and he loved spending time in coffee shops. She did too. It was all these, the number of things they had in common that made him smile and wonder where she had been all these years. After taking a gentle sip on his cup, he looked up to see her. She was lost in her own world. She wanted to go home. She wanted to get back to her world. She was missing her life. He knew that there was much that he could do to help, he felt bad for her. It broke his heart to see her upset or sad. There was no way he would let that happen. Not before, not then, never.
He sat in the car and wore the seatbelt. He knew he needed support for this drive. He had a sinking feeling. He knew this was the hardest thing he had ever done. He hated goodbyes. He was never comfortable with them. Somehow he just didn’t want to let go. He just didn’t want her to go. They reached the airport and she had made it right on time. This was the moment. She stepped out of the passenger seat of the car; the engine came to a halt. The rattling of the windows and the cacophony that was on earlier had stopped. She walked away with her little bag, dragging those wheels on the concrete floor. He stood there looking at her. She never stopped, his feelings never stopped.
Time didn't stop.
He got back in the car, holding back his emotions, holding back his thoughts, holding back… when he heard a beep on his phone “I had a lovely time. You are very special to me. Will call you once I land.”
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