FAMILY GET-TOGETHER

“Dadu, Ramji is sent for picnic in Jungle on the name of School”, asked ten year old perplexed Agastya to his grandfather, while watching the episode where Lord Ram is sent to Gurukul, of Ramayana on television with his family at home. Everyone laughed at his innocent question. Even Antaraa couldn’t help her but grinning on Agastya amusement.

Antaraa is staying with Agastya’s family as a paying guest since last year after her graduation, doing a job in this very known alfa city, Mumbai. In the two-storey building, she lives at upper floor, while Agastya’s family at ground. Being busy in her job, she hardly gets time to view the whole family in single frame which is in front of her now. Suddenly clouds of her own childhood started drizzling soothing memories in Antaraa’s mind. She still remember how her grandmother used to chant Sita-Ram…Sita- Ram…Sita-Ram while watching Ramayana and she sitting on her Granny’s lap. How always she was picked up and dropped by her grandfather daily on way to school. How her father coming from work used to call her and her younger brother from study, so that the whole family can have dinner together. How she used to chatter with her mother about each and every incident took place during the whole day away at school like a James Bond not missing a single second of observation. How lucky she was to get an education of academics at school and knowledge of rituals, culture and the most important her parents and grandparents time at home.

Than Agastya’s treasure of question pulled Antaraa’s mind back into present. He was bombarding question one after another on his Dadu trying to grasp the Ramayana whole at a time. For the first time after an year, she has seen Agastya’s family, each of them sitting at a time together just because of the lock-down during the menace of Corona Virus disease, with his all the time busy papa and mommy in office and his Dadu who waits all the time for Agastya to get free from his school, tutions, swimming classes, video games, homeworks, projects and what not.

Like Agastya, waves of question were flowing in Antaraa’s mind too. In her office Antaraa too has seen, all his managers working late hours even during weekends. She always possess an ugly feeling regarding those whose prioritize their work before their children, their parents and their family. Why this so called working class people not enjoy their second part of life after 5 PM at home, she always wanted to question. Why like Agastya, lot of children are been cared by their Aayaa (Maid). Doesn’t this era’s father interested at all in helping their kids in homework, their mommies left with no time to hear their school day sagas. Its good to be well organized while chasing targets in company, but why the same people are not punctual about chasing their parents and their kids target which nothing but their time.

Somewhere while ascending the stairs of success, we are descending to a giant hole filled with darkness of stress, anxiety, solitude, hyper-tensions, one can name it and the hole has it, Antaraa getting worried. The path of solution starts after 5 PM with next step to family, further which ultimately will give peaceful nights and a whole day of satisfaction, she anticipated.

Ohh god Antaraa, you are starting again, Antaraa thought, trying to cease her anger in mind. Well, leave it Antaraa, you can’t always debate between the old golden time of peace and present time of rush, she thought in attempt to evaporate her hatred and turned to this “Family Get-Together” held due to Quarantine where Dadu was explaining all the queries of little Agastya.

Living with Mother, a dream comes true!

 

“See Mamma, are my pleats okay now and quickly tell me, red one or golden one”? Asked Antaraa to her mother, Shalini. “Umm, yes now you are set in saree and red earrings will do”, Shalini, directing her daughter virtually through a video call who was miles away from her, undergoing through an internship in one of the finest company of Chennai. “Okay Mamma, will call you later, bye”, Antaraa cut the call. Today, she was little earlier so she sat on the platform besides the window of her room carefully avoiding any wrinkle to come on her saree, waiting for her colleague Amey with whom she pace to office everyday.

She could see the raindrops which got collected on the surface of green leaves, due the heavy rain last night, were slipping down in cascade from it making the trickling sound into the small pool of water at the bottom. On this dribbling music, her memory also started dancing and stopped in the lane of her past. During rain, her mother always makes paper boats for her and she used to sail those on the water accumulated on the terrace. She also remembered the deliciousness of Moong k Bare, her mother used to cook during rain. PEEP PEEP, sound of horn suddenly brought her to the present. It was Amey. She sat into the car. Amey complemented her but she said nothing. Antaraa was still in the antaraa of the past music. After few minutes she said, “you know when I was in 10^th grade, mamma always used to chaff me, grow a little taller, then I can sit behind you on the scooty and we can go anywhere we want to like other daughters and mammas. You all are very fortunate to have your jobs as well as your mothers here with you. She is here to welcome after you go home, exhausted by long day and work. You have her to listen all your inconsequential talks with a great focus, you have her to cook delicacies, you have her to play with your hairs so that you can sleep, you have the most peaceful place of the world, which give you blessings, which take away all your stress and grievances, her Aanchal (lap), to keep your head upon and rest calmly, heaven on earth where as I, I can only see her virtually, can only call her, living this melancholy life without her. I don’t know what or who to blame, the small city I belongs to, the low level of education system in my state, the poor availability of jobs in my hometown, the unavailability of subject I wanted to study in my state or the roots of my family over there, Mamma’s dream to make me independent or my stubbornness to do job”. She could go on further when a drop of tear jumped on cheeks from the corner of her moist eyes, making her voice shivering, she realized.

“Okay, calm down, ask your mamma to come here and stay with you”, suggested Amey. “No, let me get a permanent job first, so that I can take a flat, then it would be easy for her to come, right now in Paying guest, there are many issues”, replied Antaraa, looking out into the cloudy blackish blanket of sky, asking when she will get a job. They reached the parking of the office. She was about to open the door, when a pop-up appeared on the wall of her phone. It was an email regarding the offer letter from the company she got interviewed last week. She came out of the car and of her grievances too. Tears from her eyes as well as rain drops from the heavenly sky couldn’t stop themselves from falling down. Even nature conspired everything, so that she have her MOTHER with her too, not virtually but in reality.

Who knows that one day, living together with mother, will become a dream comes true.

 

HOLI: A STORY OF INSPIRATION

“Bura na mano, Holi hai” (Don’t get offended, its Holi), we all might have heard this phrase today, on the day of Holi where people around us can be seen splashing colors on their relatives, friends and folks to celebrate this great festival of color, Holi. Holi, one of the most revered and celebrated festival of India. It is also designated as “festival of love” in commemoration of divine love of Radha for Krishna, defining the purity of love by establishing their own example. Also, a “festival of Shaivism and Shakti”, signifying the importance of Purush and Prakriti for the balance of life.

How can I forget the great story of Devotee Prahlada which my grandmother always used to narrate me, while me sitting on her lap, during every night of Hoilkadahan besides watching the pyre of Holika gulped into the fire, every year. Little me always used to get enthralled when she comes on the most thrilling part of the story where child Prahlada sits over the lap of her evil Bua Holika (Aunt Holika) on the fire bed and always rejoiced when Devotee Prahlada safely comes out of fire with evil Holika burning into ashes. “Hence, Holi also symbolizes the festival of triumph of good over evil”, was the conclusion my grandmother always ended with in her narration and asking me to get inspired by the unflinching ‘Devotedness’ and ‘Faith’ of Devotee Prahlada towards Lord Vishnu in real life. Though, during my childhood, I never understood her saying “real life”, but now when I have grown up, turned into an adult, living my life independently in one of the fast track city of India, can easily correlate this word.

Real life, a journey which has its own destined path towards the destination. This destined path consists of many ups and downs. I will not over rate these ups and downs by highlighting them under big fancy words but will easily define them with ‘simple problems’ which every one of us face but never pay much attention to it. For me, these simple problems are fear, stress, negativity and dilemma. As a working girl, staying in this competitive environment with so many targets to accomplish and goals to hit, I usually undergo these simple problems. Why I am stating it as simple problem because the moments these got cleared, the bigger ones would get solved automatically. Many times, I have fear of not completing my tasks on time due to which I take stress of being lagging behind from others due to which negativity knocks at my mind discouraging me, creating dilemma inside me to take risk at various decisions and at this point, my ‘Devotedness’ towards my goal and my ‘Faith’ on me being efficient gets tremble. Had  Devotee Prahlada got shivered at that time, I probably would have not been writing this blog.

So the point is, in real life, my grand mother wants me to be like Devotee Prahlada and possesses ‘Devotedness’ towards goal and ‘Faith’ on me which will outrun fear inside me, setting free from all stress, nurturing positivity in my mind and giving me clear path to walk upon without any dilemma. Hence, in real life, Holi also signifies the win of our ‘Devotedness’ and ‘Faith’ over the simple problem which is pretty much important in this rush life. I urge you all to go back at your childhood time where your grandmother narrated you this story and ponder upon its real meaning and I am sure everyone, somewhere more or less, will come to the same conclusion of getting inspired by Devotee Prahlada and be like him and after implementing this, we all can play real Holi with colors, with enthusiasm and rejoice without actually worrying about the simple problems inside us that somewhere arises in all of our lives. 

CAPTURED MOMENTS

“Oh! next week is Diwali and I can’t go home because of not having off from work. Hell, what’s the meaning of such a job if I won’t meet my folks, if my presence in home will not be marked on the calendar of this month, if I can’t adore the graciousness of my hometown situated miles and miles away”, I wailed at my brother after getting confirmation of no holiday from work place. So now I have also landed up into quagmire of worldly hustle-bustle rush life of this very known alpha city, Mumbai, empathizing story line of thousands of people with some what excitement and somewhat fear. And the only question was in my mind -“what moments will my life capture this carnival”?

The life camera forwarded its roll, the day of light was in front of me with numerous invitations including the one to celebrate eve at Shivaji park situated at the one very brimful and posh area, Dadar, from my colleague cum a close friend. And there were we both in the evening and next to my eyes was that place, metaphoric of heaven. The main gate was embellished with golden lights pretexting the royal celebrations of the very great occasion with the natives and vacationers costumed in a lavish traditional attire. The lanes with corner were jewelled with strings catenating colourful red, yellow, blue and green lights on trees and compound walls like sequins on marvellous dress, rich in dark black-blue shade, of a queen. And the huge lamps hung at the heights was exaggerating the entire sightliness as if stars are falling down from sky. I was taken away by the surrounding and people. With each step while pacing the park, I captured “my moments” with ecstasy.

The warmth of the presence of my friend and everyone around, held me as if I’m the part of them only not since past two months, when I switched here for job, but from years and years. The homely way this cosmopolis welcomes the people and accepts them, is what I love and feel gratitude for. The immense care and love from my friends here and the polite nature of all these Mumbaikars (Residents of Mumbai) never reminds me of my folks and home, even on this great festival, I somewhere forgot that I was complaining of not being home. Although, I’m writing after one month past that eve but I still can remember those captured moments like scintillations. Really this was the best invitation and one of the best Diwali in the Alpha city, “Mumbai”.

An Unsung Saga!

How deciduous forest again transformed since fall,

From wine red to rich green, she wondered.

As a metaphor of her changed episodes of life this autumn,

To narrate, she opened her ‘word press’ and her past days.

 

What to re-frame down into letters, her mind stuck in the middle,

That after clocking up all excellence, how she met fear of failure.

That how she struggled against washouts and fizzle,

That how she paced up new zenith afterlife.

 

That how she vacated the city of rich culture and aura,

That how she welcomed by the alpha world and cosmopolis.

That how she achingly departed from folks and alter-ego,

That how she united with new pals and family.

 

That how she eliminated some people and their relationships forever,

That how she elected her freedom, self-esteem and account.

That how she realized her true mates during darkness and solitude,

That how she alone fought combat and discovered ray of dawn.

 

“Sometimes some hap can’t be summed into some words”,

She thought and smiled.

“This saga of fall in autumn and ascent in spring wouldn’t be sung”,

She closed ‘word press’ and published nothing,

But grinned of having everything, for now, at least a sure thing.

 

 

 

Journey of realization

Travelling from her homeland to destination,

broody mind regretting past and decisions and mistakes of her,

snoozing beauteousness of nature and time,

offered by the wheels of train in passive.

 

Suddenly, her attention lured by poor children,

how were they laughing and jumping and dancing under the sprinkler shower,

knocking out their despair and dismay,

uncaring for what life hasn’t given them.

She twinged, when was the last she laughed like so carefree?

 

The very next in her journey, was a dye firm.

Huge and large pieces of bare fabric and silk, she saw,

hung few meters high, waving off every passengers passing by,

how colourful textiles pretexting rainbow in the white sky.

She thought, when was last time she felt so peaceful?

 

Besides these, her eyes moved to the cry of a baby of months of one-two,

In the front seat, his mother embraced him and started breastfeeding.

Pouring infinite divine love, how a mother understands an infant,

always care and secure and protect, who can’t even say a word.

She asked, when was the last time, she felt so grateful?

 

Through this ongoing journey, she was losing “what”,

she realized.

Happiness is to live every moment like those children,

not regretting what you don’t possess, she realized.

Peace is the green earth and blue sky like colorful  fabrics,

not your luxury and materialistic life, she realized.

Be grateful to have “mother” like that of baby,

who herself is whole and can’t be defined in words, she realized.

 

She finally turned to window and to life,

with the halcyon moments she is living now and forever.

 

 

 

 

She made mistake, you must not

 

Thought of world filled with essence of spring,

Saffron flowers embellishing horizon,

  Tip to tail of sky gives the stage to dreams,

She made mistake, you must not.

 

Thought uncertain, never coming future is the mere future,

Her childhood like life settling struggles of forties and fifties,

Although achievements grown and raced and raised to zenith,

She made mistake, you must not.

 

Thought of being always an infant to establish decisions,

Handed over control of her roller-coaster life to well-wishers,

Fear of getting drown into, made her to do so,

She made mistake, you must not.

 

Thought his love like a delicate pink new-born, undeceiving,

Let him feel the tenderness of woman soul that very night,

  Later, she became an option for him, still chased, until torn into pieces,

She made mistake, you must not.

 

Thought people being friend and family,

Epitomize philanthropy ignoring their greed and need,

Wishing, one day, structure miscible with soil will turn into human,

She made mistake, you must not.

 

Scars like repentance on her face,

Every corner of her rooh screaming, blotting out inner pain,

Stink of sin stigmatizing around, yelling for undone,

She made, she made mistake, you must not.

 

 

 

 

IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY AND WE AREN’T TOGETHER…

April 10, I was in hospital bed, remember that period,

Miles away to entail in celebration but excited ya, kind of weird.

Emblazoned mind with surprise to gift you next year,

That clandestine love, boundless you deserve, with no fear.

Front of me, it’s your day, it’s your birthday and “we aren’t together”.

 

Since freezing winter, I collected time to prep your handsel,

With no carp, with no guilt, lets uncover my tale.

Midnight owns cozy hotel floor, gleam lamps hanging,

Subsume all your friends, chocolate cake with a luscious whipped cream topping.

Yeah, it’s your day, it’s your birthday and “we aren’t together”.

 

Astounding you, throwing birthday bash, presents and parties,

Eve to dine in marvelous beanery, delicacy and goodies.

Consuming memories, under nightfall, with wine on our stomping ground,

Titillating you, enthralling you, feeling your aroma all around.

Oh, it’s your day, it’s your birthday and “we aren’t together”.

 

Well, to celebrate, you have pals and life around you.

Indeed happy, coz except me, they are everything and true.

My dream slept, surprise remained unreal, but its fine,

May divine pour all good fortune on your way of destine.

So, wish you “Happiest Birthday” on your day where “we aren’t together.

 

 

 

 

 

Her moment is here

A day of custom, finally arrived,

So far, of that, she was dreaming.

To stole glimpse in tradition with him,

One last time, on beats, her heart was dancing.

After all, her moment is here.

 

Ah! What a man in black and red,

She gasped, by his classy apparel mesmerizing.

Gazing his pleasant countenance with clan,

Simple doing of his, she was admiring.

After all, her moment is here.

 

Fascinated by aroma of his perfume,

Odorized was she, more than lilac tree in bloom.

Collecting stories in folk, they photographed,

As time pacing so fast, so her heart to gloom.

After all, her moment is here.

 

A friend, father, brother, well-wisher,

She was blessed with all, by him.

How their bondship sailed, up and down,

Filled with happiness, reaching to brim.

After all, her moment is here.

 

Months chasing the arrival of their departure,

Coz after that they won’t be together.

Whispering prayers and hoping for miracles,

Hard luck or destiny, they have to part,

After all, her moment won’t stay forever.

 

 

 

DILEMMA ASKING DILEMMA

He stepped into my life again, after forgiving,

Heart spooky but blushing face mine, with a new beginning.

As time lapsed, spring pouring roses with love hyperbolize,

But petal plunged soon as time overwhelmed by December solstice.

 

He was in telling in his dreams,

Turned into my nightmares, leaving me grim.

Uncovering his deceits, untold lies and things,

Broken trust, he crossed, witnessing my tear devastating.

 

Days exceeded by weeks and weeks by months, desolation alive,

Debated my heart and mind with outrage undescribed.

Mind pressing demand to be alone and stay strong,

Heart, with hope, still aspiring him, saying maybe he is not all wrong.

 

Mind asked cunningly-

“Did he listened, understand or loved you ever?”

“Person epithet of deceive, falsehood and lust, is what you deserve?”

Heart contemplated-

“Childish talks, roaring laugh and craziness of him, you always adored”,

“you only wanted to be with him forever, a truth cannot be ignored”.

 

“He touched your parts, victimized you,

Still you aim him?”  asked mind shattering.

“He simply captivated you by holding your soul,

Yes, you want him”, sobbed heart answered wisely.

 

“Why he chose only me to be in the quagmire?”

I asked, silence covered arguments of both in still.

Dilemma asking dilemma, answer finding its way,

Hear to whom, ‘mind’ or ‘heart’? What do you say?