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Showing posts from 2009

Heart Lore

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Heart Lore

The wind still blows
The breeze still whistles through my ears.
But doesn’t sooth me anymore.

The Christmas carols are still sung
In the church, at the far end
The bells still jingle their message
To one and all
And the beautiful Christmas tree
Still, does call me for some appreciation
But none of them excite me anymore.

Winter once again has brought
Its chilly evenings and enthralling spirit
But nothing pleases me anymore.

Away from friends
Longing overshadows joy
And the deep feeling of nostalgia
Depresses and pains….

Down the memory lane
I want to dive—
In my past rejoices
Those small unforgettable moments.

When sadness surges through the soul,
The spirit dampened in melancholy
The heart’s sentiments grip on me so strong
And the deep expectations, engrossing dreams, true desires
That the heart hath spun,
Are all unfulfilled….
Only an evergreen smile canopying the face
Comes to my relief..

The Past never calls us
But we do turn and look back—
Trying to cling to it
And ye…
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On christmas eve

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On Christmas Eve

I look intently
When the door opens
Bringing the night chill in.

A hope that does arise—
A hope for a momentary pleasure
And a thrust of happiness
And….
An over delayed joy,
After years of missing and longing.

I see a foot stepping in
And my heart leaps up
A face tries to show itself
From the shadow of the night...
And my eyes eager to look through—
Search in the darkness
And make me rise
From my chair.

I move forward with the greatest hope—
To find the face I expect.
Forward and forward do I move
And he does too….
Till the fire from the chimney
Is able enough to reveal that face.

My feet stop
My eyes open wide in disbelief…
And my mouth agape
Unable to utter a word.

Yes, yes….My brother is back…
My dearest bro…

A wailing and a desperate cry
Consoled by a gentle hug…
The circumstances that had betrayed once
Favor me now
Then, we had separated
Now, we unite.

The frost outside, and the night’s darkness
Have gifted me my best Christmas gift.
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ADVENTURES IN MY SLUMBERLAND

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ADVENTURES IN MY SLUMBERLAND
I walk through the forest line
Into the darkness, leaving back the sunshine
Breaking a stick or two, under the feet of mine
I gingerly walk through the forest line.

I see a bush here, a bush there
Then cautiously walk, never to step into a snare
Shivering from head to toe
I fear the attack of an animal or a foe.

I turn back to see the daylight
But oh no! It’s out of sight
Left are only the colossal, thick, dense trees
Hiding even the sky and obstructing the cool breeze.

I head towards the forest’s end
Knowing not, how much time I’ve to spend
Regretting my foolish thought of adventure
And meanwhile fearing a dreadful future.

I hear a squeak, a screech, a croak and a howl
And say,” Oh! Now not even a growl.”
Then I run as fast as I can
Jumping over huddles, whether a bush or bran.

Then the golden rays of the sun was in sight
“Hurrah, I have found the light.”
Running, jumping, as if in a race
Finally I got out of The Forest of Darkness.

To my great surprise,…
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My walk

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My Walk
I strode among the greenwood trees
That stood proudly and firmly,
Dancing in the breeze
In my backyard orchard, gracefully.
I walked beside a lame friend
His hand rested on the walking stick
Or was the walking stick on his hand
A person with a will, never to break.
I walked along the river bank
Sad at the memories it aroused
Life rose from it and there it sank;
Pure water of life, with it life blossomed.
I walked on the concreate roads
Of the city, flowers lining on roadside
half dull, half faded, artificially bright with smelly load
Smell of petrol over scent of flowers; who'd reside.
I walked gaily on the pathway
that led to the forest,sparingly lighted
The chirpings and twitterings that happily say
"This is the best place you have ever sighted."
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My mother

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MY MOTHER
The one who introduced this world to me
It's God's face, in her I can see
My life, I owe to her
The one who never hesitated, sufferings to bear
Yes, she's my mother
A 'devi' in a 'being', rather.
Ask the east the beauty of the sun
When it rises kissing the hills, at the dawn;
Ask the west about the setting sun, which brought it fame.
The answer is obvious and the same,
It shall be also my reply
About my mother, the most beautiful one, deserves to be praised sky-high.
With a common green sari even,
She gathers in herself the whole of the heaven
She, a Hindustani woman, my dear mother
Her moral principles, can never be compared to any other
Her cradle song, the sweetest of all,
I remember till today, as a teenage girl.
Her soft voice and pleasing smile, I always cherish
"O that time would never pass!" I always wish.
Only can the East describe
The beauty of the sun, the best
Only can the darkness imbibe
The feel of light, in the west.
More beautiful than the settin…
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Beauty in the dark

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Beauty in the dark

Night falls so soon
But with it does- the glowing moon
With her face wide and clear
Smiles at me and all present here

Does she ever realizes that I love her
How I admire, gaze at her
For her sober, humble disposure
She’s a gem, a pearl of Nature.

How the stars wink at me-
The moon accompanies, befriends them-See!!
Every child’s favorite
She’s a great, marvelous sight.
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The Icecream-man

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The Ice cream-Man

So gaily do they walk
With their heavy lot- door to door-
-from this alley to that
Their skin darkened in the sun
And their brow filled with perspiration
It’s a longing that their eyes show
A longing to sit and let the weariness go
A long wait from dawn, for a peaceful sleep
Oh! But for heaven’s sake-
There’s no rain, no shade, not even a vine does creep
The heat’s so wicked & the monsoon’s fake.
Burns in their bare feet and boils in their back
Clad in dirty rags; but a cheerful smile-
They never lack.
They cry their daily pleasant monotonous song
“Hey! Here he comes,” say the children hearing those
What they have, all to the kids does belong
Their presence brings fresh smiles
To have a look of which they cycle miles and miles
On seeing a face beaming with joy
Their lips too spread and it’s the gift of pleasing smile
That they too enjoy.
I feel happy when they sport it
With their cracked lips opened a bit
And their cheeks dimpled- grow hollow
They are relieved then, from the longing
That t…
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Rajasthan-my dream destination

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Rajasthan has always fascinated me. Its culture, traditions, customs, its history....everything.The monuments, historical places especially palaces and forts have always occupied my imagination--the princesses,their royal dignity,the king's durbar..etc..The traditional rajasthani dress,the ghoomar dance, their festivals,rituals...all attract me so much...It is my dream place...dream destination..How i wish to visit it ..feel its atmosphere..... May be that's why the song "Kesaria Balam" pleases me so much and the serial Prithviraj Chauhan too...We all friends used to see that serial regularly...Actually that was the only serial we used to see regularly and also had a craze for.After it ended,the craze was lost...SANYOGITA always filled my imagination.Which girl would not like to be a princess.....at least adore a princess??


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flute and peacock feathers

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now these give an asthetic appeal....serenity in the surroundings..
Flute is for peaceful, soothing music...that triggers the emotional corner of ur heart..,makes you nostalgic ..and takes you back to those old days of the past...which you most lovingly cherish as a memory....

And peacock feathers relate to Him, lord Krishna...(infact flute too does)...










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The Hyderabad Playlist – A song story

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It is human nature to dwell in the past, worry about the future and forget all about the present. I still miss the days spent in Hyderabad. I miss the study schedules, eating out, street shopping, and the city tours. I miss the roads, the townships and the metros. But I clearly remember that I just wanted the days to pass quickly so that I could return home, while I was there. And today I miss the view from the terrace of the ladies hostel we stayed in, the floral decorations with chalk, colors and flowers, the flower market, the abundance of curd during lunch hours, the constant ‘amma’ recitals by our wardens and so much more.


One of the highlights of the hostel life in Hyderabad at Sri Kamali was queuing up for tea, puri and dosa during breakfast time, and then hurrying to secure a chair the very next moment. And conversations and complaints flowed unhindered during these hours in many languages at once- the most prominent ones being Telugu, Kannada, Malayalam, Marathi and English.…
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Gulaal

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I like the setting- the locales of Gujarat- the desert, the village lifestyle, the way of living in that village of Talsagra. I like the house itself- it is so like a thing of the past, a white palace-like bungalow. I like the terrace (marble tiled) where Gulaal comes to dry the clothes in the clothes line. I like the verandah where they dry the kitchen things (food items- chili and grains). I like the very decorum of the house- the way the furnitures are, the way every room is furnished, decorated in traditional style (typical of villages); the way they eat in plates made of brass and bronze, not steel. (Glasses too of brass or bronze). Even the way they cook in the kitchen-not with gas, but firewood and earthen ‘chulah’, sitting on the floor- the most Indian and traditional way.

Just love Gulaal’s ghagra cholis, the bangles, green color, all ‘chunars’, their turban, and the kurta pajamas.
I like the flashbacks, how the past plays an important role in the serial, the memories, the n…
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Yeh Meri Family : Summer of '98

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I watched TVF's recently released dramedy 'Yeh Meri Family' after reading a tweet about it. Then when I was in the second episode a friend recommended it to me just the moment I was about to recommend the same to her. Just like telepathy. Then, I knew this adorable story of a 12-year-old Harshu and his family in The Summer of '98 was a very special one.


Being a 90's kid, I could relate to each and every detail in the series. The siblings' fights were exactly similar down to the very argument on who had to bring the clothes from the terrace and who had to fill up the water bottles and put them in the fridge.


How often as kids, we thought our parents are so uncool till that moment when we realized otherwise! "Papa cool dikhte nahi, Papa cool hain." Planning with friends, being the obedient one when parents fight, and sneaking around the kitchen to find something to eat- this web series took me back to my childhood and relive it all. It brought a smile …
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A Gathering Of Friends By Ruskin Bond

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a gathering of friends is a collection of 21 short stories.
The twenty-one stories in the book are the greatest pieces of fiction written by Ruskin Bond. Chosen by the author himself, from a body of work built over fifty years (starting with his award winning first novel, ‘The Room on the Roof’, and ending with ‘Tales of Fosterganj’), this collection includes well-known masterpieces like ‘The Night Train at Deoli’, ‘The Woman on Platform 8’, ‘Rusty Plays Holi’, ‘Angry River’, ‘The Blue Umbrella’, ‘The Eyes Have It’, ‘Most Beautiful’, ‘Panther’s Moon’, as well as newer stories like ‘An Evening at the Savoy with H.H’ and ‘Dinner with Foster’. Taken together, the stories in A Gathering of Friends show why Ruskin Bond has long been regarded as one of the pillars of Indian Literature.
Timeless tales
Ruskin Bond's stories have the essence of the hills, the trains through the deodars, uninhibited exploration of childhood and other vagaries of life. They have such a universal appeal. They a…
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‘All The Bright Places’ by Jennifer Niven

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GoodReads
I haven’t read a book that describes depression better, without any prejudices, without being judgmental, without any ill informed facts or misconceptions. No book had been so understanding, consoling and comforting. It deals with suicide thoughts, living life to the fullest and that sinking feeling – that indescribable emotion that brings in the void, the emptiness, the loneliness, and wretched thought of abandon, without any reason. I am grateful to have read this book. I am immensely thankful to the author to have written this. I wish it reaches more and more readers than it already has. Let there be awareness and love without bias. Let these thoughts not be just labeled as ‘weird’ or ‘sick’ or ‘mental illness’ steeped in shame, embarrassment, and fear of alienation.
Violet Markey is devastated by her sister Eleanor’s untimely death due to a car accident, of which she’s a survivor. She feels she’s cheated Eleanor somehow by being alive. Life is not the same anymore. She’s…
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