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A Beach

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The waves had long receded, the beach was breathing free,
The tiny crabs drawing on the wet sand, a beautiful tapestry.

But the high tides soon brings the thrashing waves back,
Rushing in and washing away every trace in its track.

Shells hiding a life within, waiting for the waves to return,
Journeys back into the depths, where the deep waters churn.

Left back on the beach are some broken, abandoned shells,
Whispering tiny echoing sighs as the raging water swells.

Footprints on the sand are but guests, who will not stay,
What ever written on the shores soon gets washed away.

Day dawns, filling the beach with the glorious sights of life,
Sun set hours, twinkling stars, and the beach shuts its eyes.

The beach sinks in slumber, resting in the arms of the night.
To be awakened into another tomorrow by the sea gulls flight.

Beach and ocean, endless love, forever on each other’s side,
Sparkling sand and oceans blue, in togetherness they abide.

Melting

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Mountain range

The mountain peaks at dawn, glistening like a white dress,
From my perched window, it seemed to be heaven’s address;
Melting in the warmth of day, the glacier softening its snow,
Meandering along gently forward, yet none could see it flow.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart , I felt some desires
melting away, like the flowing snow!

The sun softly coloured the western sky in molten gold,
I stood transfixed seeing the hues, which the rays had unfold,
Each ray of warm crimson, slowly melting into the deep lake,
Touching the core of every ripple, till it bled red with ache.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some deep seeded
anger melting away, like a pain waiting to go!

Evening Azaan from a far away mosque filled the air around,
The praise of Allah permeating and melting ; music profound!
I turned away from the window, and walked into my room,
To light a candle at my altar, to fill it with jasmine bloom.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some greed melting
away, with the ebbing echoes by the evening light!

The melting candle at the altar, drops of wax gently pouring,
In meditative silence I waited, to feel the heart beats soaring,
Soaring into those lofty realms where the mind begs to reside,
In the lap of nature, in a world without any forceful divide.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some attachments
melting away, in that darkness of the night!

The darkness of the night indulging the sparkling stars,
From dawn to night I stood and stared into a horizon very far.
I melted with the hours and followed the day like a sage,
I learned from every spec bestowed upon earth’s endless stage.

I gazed and gazed and in my heart, I felt some pride melting
away, in that humbling silence of gratitude.

Deserted

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Deserted.

The silence of the night, was being torn apart with the angry wind’s scream ;
On the edge of the dense forest, besides the overflowing gurgling stream ;

Stood an empty camp ; the torn canvas tents fluttering in strong breeze.
Gazing at a crescent moon in the sky, trying to escape the dark cloud’s tight seize.

The camp was deserted, the people within had left their tents behind,
The weather was extreme, the relentless heavy rain had been very unkind.

They had left the camp dejected, defeated, their morale hurt and pained,
Their wet boots and bags soaked heavy, their strong resolute, eventually waned.

The camp fire could not be lit for days, the gusty winds blew so strong ,
They huddled together through the rain chilled nights, not knowing what went wrong.

They had set the camp filled with enthusiasm of youth, eager for an adventure ,
Ignoring the dark cloud’s warning, not knowing that weather could be a stranger .

To walk through the dense green forest and reach its end was their daring plan,
But nature had a different will, and their adventure had to stop even before it began.

The darkness of the night had entered the heart of an empty, deserted camp,
They had long fled, and amidst strewn around things stood alone an unlit lamp.

It was a camp, but with a different story to tell,
It was a camp, where people could not dwell.
It was a camp, which did not hear any campfire song,
It was a camp , where happy faces did not throng.
It was a camp, in the depths of a jungle, no one knew,
It was a camp, which still awaits for someone new !

Tomorrow’s Day off

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In the house of TIME lived three friends in complete harmony with each other, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. The clock work precision of their chores had never failed before but until this day. After almost finishing a full day’s hard work, Today entered Tomorrow’s room to hand on the Baton of the Day to Tomorrow.

But to his surprise, Tomorrow was still lying in bed without showing any sign of waking up. After some nudging from Today, Tomorrow turned in bed, sat up with a tired yawn and said something that he had been wanting to say for ever, “I don’t feel like going for work, just for once; dear Today will you please continue being Today and carry on your job. I want to take a day off from work. I, Tomorrow, for the first time in my life, do not want to report for duty”.

A shocked Today stood staring at Tomorrow in complete disbelief. Today almost shouted out saying “How is that even possible dear Tomorrow ? You know very well when Today ends, Tomorrow has to show up. You cannot break this chain in the house of Time. And talking of work, I am the most hardworking one in this house. I am always under the pressure of living in the present”.

Tomorrow stood up slowly, with a sad voice and continued “Do you even know how much work is left for me to complete
everyday. Everyone procrastinates all the time. The work they are supposed to do Today, gets pushed onto Tomorrow.
Every chore, every plan, even dreams are forever being marked for Tomorrow. This creates so much pressure on me.
I too am just a simple Tomorrow, I don’t have any magical powers. What can’t be done Today, don’t pass it on to me. “

Yesterday had long retired in his chamber and was silently working with all the files of memories, neatly stacking them
and marking them by category. Yesterday had this tough job to produce any file, any time at the press of recall button. All
the commotion outside broke Yesterday’s reverie. Yesterday walked out and stood at Tomorrow’s door step, for Yesterday
could not enter Tomorrow. Rules were a bit strict in The House Of Time. From the door, Yesterday asked “What is all
this commotion ? What are you two arguing about ? Can’t you let a tired Yesterday work in peace with memories?”

Today looked up at Yesterday for support and started saying “Tomorrow here is refusing to go to work now, Tomorrow feels
overburdened. Tomorrow wants me ( Today) to carry on my hours endlessly. This is entirely unfair. I am the hardworking
one in this house, all goals are accomplished in my time, in my hours, I am an over burdened Today”.

Yesterday smiled wryly and said ” You both are wrong, I have been in both your shoes. I know time management is tough,
but trust me my life is not easy either. I am constantly loaded with nostalgia and memories. At times, I feel the load of
memories will suffocate me. So can you two give me some peace! I am Yesterday, the senior one, preservation of every
day is my responsibility. And trust me, keeping all the files and records of every day is not an easy task”.

Tomorrow looked up at Yesterday and said “I am sad, I am sad and tired. I am sad because I am always taken for granted. I always show up, no matter how good or bad Today has been, I have to always show up with new hope and optimism. I am tired because of the false promises kept aside for Tomorrow.”

At this emotional outburst of Tomorrow, the room was filled with silence. The three friends stood looking at each other not
knowing what to do. They had never argued or fought like this before. A sense of gloom and confusion was engulfing them
and just then the magic happened.

The walls of the house started speaking. It was a loud, clear and somber voice, it went on to say “I am Time. I am
immortal. You three live in my house. It is I who have given you your identity and roles. You three are bound by the same
chain. Yesterday, my eldest your responsibility is to fill Today and Tomorrow with your experience. Today you are my
favorite in many ways, you need to learn from Yesterday and also fill Tomorrow with encouragement. And lastly, Tomorrow
the youngest, you are the flag bearer of hope. The meaning of Time will become irrelevant without you. Yet, do not get too
complacent in your role. At the rate humans are moving if they move to another galaxy then Time, Yesterday, Today and
Tomorrow, we will all lose relevance forever! So wake up and do your job. Tomorrow has to come.

Till I fall.

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The dust of time has settled on my leaf,

The dust of years heavily laden with grief.

No monsoon rain can wash me clean,

No summer sun can give me back my sheen.

I stood the tests of earth, holding to my roots,

I saved all the zest of spring for my offshoots.

Till you learn to reach the root I will hold your branch,

Till you learn to spread the green, my leaf will not blanch.

In your shinning reflection I see the hope for tomorrow,

In your swaying motion I see vanishing waves of sorrow.

When my last leaf will touch the ground without any noise,

Remember, here once stood a tree, with deep strength and poise .

MA

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Ma, in this beautiful season of happiness rain
Ma, why do I feel this fathom less sea of pain.
Ma, I open every door and every window ajar,
Hoping to see your smiling face,
Ma, I look up at the star filled skies afar,
Searching for your shining trace.
Ma, I touch every rose petal ever so soft,
To feel the touch of your hands.
Ma, I knit with playful woolen balls ,
To feel your warmth in their strands.
Ma , I seek you every morning ,
In my altar, amidst the images of my God.
Ma, I seek you every evening,
In the wavering candle lights’ gentle nod.
Ma , I walk alone on the streets,
looking for your tired feet.
Ma,  I look for you at every turn,
Waiting for you through rain and sleet.
Ma, I searched in vain for many a years,
Ma,  I searched for you in my smiles and tears.
Ma, this is the way it was always meant to be,
For you to hide and forever set me free.
Ma, you are in the glorious morning light,
Ma, you are in the darkness of the night.
Ma, you are hiding but within my soul.
Ma, I am trying to play your role.
Gone but not forgotten is the way of the world
In this gentle rhythm of time life’s folds unfurled.
When I meet you across the oceans light ,
Help me soar in that unknown skies flight.

Secret Santa

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Santa I love you. That unprentious hearty laughter filling the room with hope and joy. Hope for miracles, hope for wish fulfillment, and the sheer joy of giving and receiving. The mystery that surrounds Santa adds to the charm of his persona. His home in the North Pole, his Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, a sack full of gifts,  the frosty Christmas trees and Santa’s sledge gliding down the snowy slopes.This image itself brings an instant smile, a happy feeling which wants to say “Santa I love you. “

When I was a child Santa was actually a photo on the Chrismas card. I grew up in a village where there were no dress up Santa Claus to hand me over my favorite toy on Christmas day. But I always had Santa in my life. My secret Santa, my Baba and Ma. This realization did not dawn on me till I became a mother myself and it was my turn to be the Santa to my children. 

Every year during Christmas vacation my Didi and I would go back home to our parents, our happy place, our magic land . In those days, our parents never thought of having a Christmas Tree at home, or about hanging stockings on Christmas eve. Our home did not light up with star shaped lights. Going out on the terrace and looking up at the stary stary night above filled our little eyes with twinkle, those were our Christmas lights. We did not have any of the obvious Christmas glitters around us, but Baba and Ma made every Christmas very special and memorable. And without knowing it my parents became the Santa Claus every year, for Didi, me and many of our friends.

In our home the preparation of celebration would start a week before Christmas. My Baba and Ma called Christmas day as (” বড় দিন ” ) or “Bara din”. Perhaps it meant that the sun shine days of winter would become a little longer in duration from this day.  It could  also mean that the birth of Mary’s boy child made the day a big day, a special day. Thus “Bara Din ” was a much awaited day of the year. We always hosted friends at home a few days before Christmas, for Christmas days were specially slated for picnics. Ma used to bake the best cake I have ever had in her own little round oven. Since we lived in a village the ingredients for the baking and the other dishes had to be procured from Patna, the big city. A person was specially sent to buy every thing Ma needed for Christmas dinner. After dinner all the children were gifted little tin boxes filled with toffee and candy, and that was our special sweet treat to wait for.

On the other hand Baba was the planner for the picnic with friends. Baba would find new picnic spots every year. It could be near a little waterfall running into a stream in Kauakole, or on the foothills of a rocky hillock on Gaya highway, or simply inside the forest like greens of a mango grove.To my young innocent eyes those places held the magic of wonder land.The anticipation of a new picnic spot, then the loading of our green ambassador car with darees, cane picnic baskets, stove, utensils and lastly squeezing ourselves in the back seat was no less than a secret five adventure alike. Cooking of the food at the picnic spot was always designated to one sous-chef-uncle  (executive chefs being the ladies of the team ), and we the children were his little elfs. I miss those days. The joy of abundance in the small things of life cannot be recreated in today’s date or time. Maybe, it was the simplicity which made everything so special, and the sweet scent of nostalgia still hangs strong in the air around me.

To my mind Bara Din makes us all Bara in every sense.
Around this time of the year we become more loving, giving, accepting and forgiving. The cheerful atmosphere of this season is infectious. It is a time to reach out , to embrace everyone, perhaps someone needs us, let us simply knock and smile. That itself could be a gift for someone somewhere. 

I have been receiving Santa’s presents all my life. My Baba and Ma were my Santa Claus. When I was a kid every wish of mine was fulfilled, atleast I always felt it that way. When I was a teenager, a few wishes were denied, I remember ; and on reflection I understand that those denials were also gifts. They were always showering  me with the abundance of love, discipline and educating me in every way, building my character with their own hands. My parents left me a little early, but I guess they were needed to spread their love somewhere else, where it was needed more. And in their absence too I feel I am receiving their blessings every day , the values I carry so proudly are the best gifts my Baba and Ma could have ever given me. My secret Santa is not so secret anymore, reminding me of their presence deep within my heart, everyday of my life . Every parent is the secret Santa to their children and once those children become grown up they become secret Santas themselves. And thus the magic of “Bara Din” continues forever and ever.

Lost Words

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My words are knocking at my door,
And I am not ready to hear.
My words are waiting on a cold floor,
And I am numbed with fear.
My words await like a lover forlorn,
Aah, for the love of my words, I am torn.

I remember closing the door on your face,
Not with a loud thud, but with gentle grace.
Like one hides after losing the race,
I wanted to hide in an agonizing space.
You once attempted to hold me back,
But I had vanished in my ink-blue black.

Why should I bring you inside ?
What is there for you to see ?
The same stories of broken pride,
Chasing the ego and no place to hide.
The opium laced hours of mundane ,
Crossing the borders of sane-insane.
A few broken images of the bygone day ,
Effortlessly piling upon my today.
With no ray of light lighting up tomorrow,
Yesterday’s happiness drowning in sorrow .

Why should I bring you inside ?
What is there for you to see ?
Smiles and laughter I once had spread ,
Those books together, we once had read.
The pages are torn, flying around the room,
The air is dismal, laden with gloom.
Unopened pages are crying in vain,
They look at me, but with disdain.
Memories are fading, without any fanfare,
And I sit in silence, within these walls of despair.

Why should I bring you inside ?
What is there for you to see ?
There is no novella to tell or bard to mourn,
There is a numbing silence, to which I have sworn.
The stories we had once weaved together,
The dreams made of wings as light as feather,
They have flown away from my mind,
Not to come back, and no one to remind.
All grand and lofty words sublime ,
Have been buried in the ruins of time.

Why do you still stand at my door,
My long forgotten words candor.
Words with power, to build and destroy,
To lure and win is your age old ploy.
You unfurl stories from my heart,
You hold me tight and tear me apart.
My thoughts had frozen like winter snow,
Your sunshine awakens with a tender glow.

My words are knocking at my door,
Alas, I will make you wait no more.
Like a diver from the depths of sea ,
Bringing the pearl and setting it free,
My words you pull me from my reverie,
Like a shameless lovers’ ecstasy.

Yoga Mat Mantra.

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The above is a picture of a sad yoga mat. It is sad because  of its present status, a prop for photoshoot. My yoga mat thinks ( yes , it has an independent mind of its own) that it has in its power to make me connect with my inner self ! This has been my mat from my initial days of practicing yoga. The mat has seen better days of glory. It has been with me in my journey of learning and relearning how to bend my ego and spine both together. 

Once upon a time the mat had had a place of respect in our house. The minute it unfurled a whiff of fresh air and positivity would fill the room. Alas, those days of the past is like a distant dream for the mat. For sometime now my mat has been living under the bed, sharing a dark space with a ladder, a long forgotten briefcase, one pair of lost chappal, and a folding (one leg broken) laptop table; out of sight- out of mind. A life of total ignominy. To add more misfortune some spiders made a comfortable studio in the hollow cylindrical belly of the mat and were making their own web series. This web story was perhaps the last straw to my mat’s patience. It decided to finally reach out to me.

As I wrote earlier,  my mat has some special powers! It has the power to connect with  me. With years of having practiced yoga together our connect is quite strong. I could almost hear the mat cry out in pain and indignity.  And as I bend down low to recover the mat from under the bed my back muscles groaned and moaned in protest. So one thing was clear, my once flexible  body had become stiff and lazy. The muscles had forgotten to stretch and bend.

The only Surya namaskar my body had done in the last two years was to stand in the balcony with folded hands saluting the 9.am sun. The only Tree pose I had done was to stand under a tree and take a nice photo. The only Baal- Asan was to behave like a child filled with impatience. And my all time favorite, the Sab-Asan was performed on the bed. Now that I have made my reader count all my follies,  the picture is amply clear that I had not done any yoga for two years and counting. There is no connect with my inner peace, my restless mind is wandering, and my physical body is moaning  and groaning,

The mat insisted to be pulled out from under the bed, and I obeyed. But my escapist mind promptly found other uses for the mat. It became a prop for photography, It became  a place to sit on with the morning paper and coffee, and last but not the least the mat became my muse for another blog.

My mat is still talking  to me. It is humming  in my ears that Yoga as we popularly call it is actually Yog in Sanskrit. Yog, meaning connect ! Connect of the mind with  the body, connect of the mind with the soul, connect of the mind with the universe beyond ourselves. The concept of yog stretches much beyond the stretching of a few muscles and limbs. It is an ignorant and vain mat, proud of its bright red beauty and will not shut up till I transform my lifestyle once again and connect with my mind. I guess it is time to say “Thank you yog mat for your mantra”.

April Fools’ Day

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Another fools day came  and went by leaving me a little more foolish than yesterday. I am a declared fool. I get fooled very easily. The day of playing prank on one another did not ever go empty for me. Some tried and some succeeded.  I am happy that some people  still remember the April fools day as it used to be years back.

I asked my friend Google to make me more knowledgeable  about the history of the day, how , why and when were fools of the world awarded a special day. Ignorance is no more a bliss. No one needs to stay blissfully ignorant anymore. If you have a question on your mind  then there is always  an answer for it. But before Google, answers did not come easy. Thus I grew up building my very own  fool’s paradise where the realm of reality and imagination often blurred my vision. 

There’s is no special  pride in being a fool.  But when for a whole day you can laugh at simple foolish pranks, it gives a sense of comic relief.

Our childhood  was very different,  we lived and grew in a world where  everyday life had simple pleasures and awe filled moments.

April first always brought  some excitement, when everyone  could get away playing  a prank, one had to be watchful all day lest you get fooled ! I remember on April Fools’ day I would run down  the stairs to ring the  door bell and come up running and panting to tell Ma ” ke esheche dekho ( see who has come )”. Ma would go all the way to the door, open it and find no one on the other side, she would look up at me standing at top of the staircase clapping and calling Ma..April Fool. Ma would climb back the stairs smiling, without ever making me feel the fool, perhaps she knew all along !

Mr. Pinocchio,  people  made the biggest fool of you and your image. They made you believe that your nose kept growing  an extra inch every time you lied. In my fool’s paradise lying was a naughty thing to do. Thus I tried to be as truthful as I could.This led me into troubles more often than I liked. Yet my  tiny nose kept growing inspite of all the truth abiding days of my childhood. The Pinocchio syndrome has not affected  the world at all, and thank God  for it , or else we would  be having a world full Pinocchios. At long last the fool in me stopped blaming my long nose and started appreciating it for what it is…just a nose. Whether lying is white or black, vice or virtue, it doesn’t help in growing a long nose.

Shakespeare’s court jesters were no one’s fool. They said the most hard hitting truths of life garbed in wit and humour.  The one who makes us laugh easy is neither a fool nor ignorant. A fool’s humour comes laced with the irony of life and gives us a looking glass which adds that extra shade of colour. In a world burdened with divisions, chaos, hunger ,power politics, lies and deceit, let there be one day for the fools too.  A day where there will be a little mindless laughter a day to get fooled with another fool with no malice in heart.