Melt not, mighty sky...

Melt not, O mighty grey sky,
Why do you weep when my eyes are dry?
Heavy are your clouds and so is my heart.
My beloved, he says, he's got to depart.
But, stop not from letting your tears flow,
if you think you could wash away my sorrow...

O lulling night breeze, finger not my tresses.
For, you remind me of my beloved's caresses.
And though my brave little smile is only a facade,
the lingering loneliness is excruciatingly hard.
But, blow on unhindered, if you could perchance,
get me a whiff of his mesmerising fragrance...

Shimmer not, O moon, in the black expanse,
your beauty fails to put me in a trance.
My beloved's presence is all my heart seeks.
Without him, my seconds stretch into weeks.
But, go on to illumine, if it gives you solace,
And spread your light on my beloved's face...

Starlight in my soul...

I'd have called it a chilly night...
but for the warmth of your enfolding arms;
The elusive fragrance of the memories it held,
is still alive with its magical charms.
With the silent, slumbering world below
and the softly glimmering stars above,
together we lay in a blissful embrace,
suspended in time, cocooned in eternal love.

I'd have called it a quiet night...
but for the rythm of your heartbeat in my ears;
gently lulling my mind into a hypnotic trance,
soothing my senses and alluding my fears.
Bathed in a cascade of silver starlight,
with the half-moon winking away in glee.
When the night-breeze flirted with your hair,
the passion in your eyes beckoned to me.

I'd have called it a dark night...
but for the light gleaming in your eyes;
Every passing second held an unknown magic,
until the firdt golden streaks of sunrise.
The meaningof life was never whole enough
until you rendered mine, a new goal.
And now, you are the lodestar of my life,
spreading pure starlight in my soul...

Bangalore Blues...

She looked around with a twinge of envy. No, not just a twinge. It overwhelmed her. The houses were absolutely magnificent. Not overly huge or grandiose but large enough to be called “Houses” in the proper sense. Large windows, spacious balconies, sloping roofs and dainty gardens...everything she'd always dreamed of and more.

She sighed, thinking of their own tiny two-bedroomed living space, ashamed to call it their house. She remembered the maddening time she and her husband had had last november, hunting for a decent two-bedroomed unit. The amount of running around they'd done over the weekends, the bowing and scraping to a variety of “house brokers” and the grossly exorbitant rents demanded by house-owners was all a nightmare to say the least. In Bangalore, one had to have the moolah ready at hand and the patience akin to that of G. Buddha to find a good apartment. So when they finally found the house that they were living in, they had breathed a huge sigh of relief. It wasn't luxurious in the least. On the contrary, it had a ghastly pink facade and was on the third floor. She and her husband had exchanged a glance. Pink?? Seriously?? And then they had shrugged. At least it had all the basic amenities to sustain life and was a walkable distance from her place of work. Most importantly, what clinched the deal was the fact that the landlady was not the bickering type. All in all, it was a blessing and they had welcomed it with outstretched arms.

But now, looking at the affluence all around, she felt these stately houses mock at her modest means. Sighing, she buried her chin in her husband's shoulder and mumbled “I wish we had something like this”.

“Like what?” asked her husband, oblivious to her anguish, calmly intent on manouvering the bike through the winding by-lanes, avoiding traffic signals.

“Look at these houses” she said mournfully “so beautiful...”

He didn't seem swayed by her melancholy tone. He had heard that before. “yeah well, what about them, sweetheart?”

“Why can't we have something like this?”

“Mm-hmm” Non-committal, realistic, afraid of getting caught in a 'catch-22' kind of situation.

Annoyed, she glared at his helmet but hugged him tighter anyway. “Think...how nice it would be to have our own little garden. A sit-out balcony. And we could paint the walls the colour of our choice. And not be afraid of hammering nails to hang my paintings...” She stopped.

“One day, we will sweetheart.” He mollified her. “Just not now”.

It was her turn to say “Mm-hmm...”

“Think of it this way. How expensive it must be to buy or rent one of these places. And the cost of maintenance. It must be bleeding them dry. Do you really think its worth it?” He asked.

“Well, probably they are stinking rich and can afford it.” She mumbled under her breath.

“Or maybe they spend their lives earning only so that they can pay their EMIs, hating their jobs but having no way out, bound by a beautiful house that they come to only to sleep. Not having time for themselves or their family.” He countered.

“Whatever...” She said sulkily.

She lifted her head to find he had swerved the bike skillfully and come to a halt at her favourite Ice-cream shop. Hopping off the bike, she smiled up at her husband, light-hearted all of a sudden. Forgetting all her blues instantly. Gone was the pout that had dominated her being just a few minutes earlier.

He removed his helmet, ran a hand through his thick mop of hair and gave her a smile that never failed to tug at her heart-strings.

“At leat we can afford to have ice-cream..!! Any flavour you choose, my princess.” He said, putting his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. She smiled back and thought. “Well, we may not have a swanky house, but we have a home.” He was her home.

Life wasn't so bad after all... There was always ice-cream..!!

Everlasting Innocence

Yesterday,

I was a little girl, nimble and shy.

eager to laugh, eager to cry.

Bouyant with dreams for my days ahead,

with perhaps a few doubts drifting in my head.

Life was much simpler, either black or white.

Small, inane things filled me with delight.

The world, it seemed lay right at my feet,

And problems were foes that I could easily defeat.

Today,

I'm much older, a "woman of the world"

I've been primed to do as I'm told.

In a world that has mercilessly clipped my wings,

I remain a caged bird that futilely sings.

Of hopes and dreams and the beauty of innocence,

And longing for that elusive freedom with a vehemence,

And wondering how wonderful it would be

If we'd all remain children eternally.

Beating the heat

Life v/s a comic strip...

I always feel life inside a comic book is so enchanting. Far more than real life, anyway. At least, one knows there will be something to laugh at when it ends. Take Calvin for example. He has not a care in the world. As long as he has Hobbes by his side, he is the happiest kid in the world. They may be the best of friends and the worst adversaries. But, at the end of the day, they always face the monsters under the bed at night, together.

Or may be, to be more precise, I think it is childhood that is the most magical of all. And everytime I lay eyes on a comic strip, it never fails to catapult me to my own childhood. There was a time when the burdens of school and classwork seemed immense. Exam time was dreaded like the armageddon and TV was the ultimate source of nirvana. One free period in the school time-table used to be the treat of the week. Those punishments for cutting classes and skipping homework were far sweeter in the company of friends who were always in the same boat. We would fantasize about a hazy adult life when we wouldn't have to cram for exams and would earn our own livelihoods to buy all the candy bars we possibly could. But who knew that all those seemingly herculean tasks of childhood would be dwarfed by the problems of adulthood. We slog day in and and day out all for a paycheck that always seems less and is absconding from our bank accounts by mid-month so much so that our credit cards are our dearest friends thereafter. The candy bars, chocolate, burgers and pizzas only help in contributing to our ever-burgeoning waist-lines and ever-depleting wallets.

Come to think of it, I'm not really that old in the actual numerical sense. So I cannot fathom why I feel all used up and jaded already. I guess, the monotony of everyday life has got to me. From the moment I wake up in the morning to the moment I hit the sack at night, I dawdle through the different phases of my day as if on automaton. There was a time when I'd just moved to Bangalore for my higher studies, I'd had lofty dreams of learning french and hip-hop and oil-painting and what-not. Or opening my own little bistro or greeting-card business by 25. Getting a job that paid enough and saving some of it to eventually get a corrective laser surgery for my myopic eyes. Small things that sadly never materialised. That surrendered to bigger issues of keeping a job that was relentless and a friends' list that dwindled with time. Books have been sidelined, replaced by movies and online shopping while my spectacles get thicker by the day. Shopping malls are the easy alternatives to a bored weekend and sleep is a luxury. Even my own handwriting is a stranger to me while the keyboard claims to be my aide. Badminton and chess have taken a back seat to Angry Birds. Where did the simple things go, I wonder. Things that made us laugh and cry. Things that gave us joy. Things that didn't leave us numb like we are now.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not unhappy. Perhaps, just resigned to life and its wily mechanisations. Funnily enough, I think I would trade my job for my childhood anyday. To break free from this vicious circle that has somehow enmeshed me in its web and lulled my verve to a zombie-like stupor. Now, I dread mondays mornings more than I'd ever dreaded any school exam! C'est la vie, mes amis. That's the way the cookie crumbles...

So, in times like these, Calvin definitely saves the day.

Hoping for hope

I respect the Japanese people in many ways. But the most important among their attributes is their discipline, simplicity or dedication to their work. There are indeed many leaves we can take out of their book. Therefore, I feel bad when my mind dwells on the recent misfortune that has befallen Japan. Although no country deserves such blunt fury from Nature, Japan has been an exceptional target when it comes to facing such hardships ranging from natural to man-inflicted.

No doubt the bombings on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were instrumental in bringing the second world war to a screeching halt. Yet, it will forever be condemned as one of the most horrific acts of Man on mankind. The aftermath of the nuclear bombings left deep and irreversible scars in Japan, so much so that the legecy was there for generations thereafter. Nature has also had her share in Japan's misgivings. As the archipelago is strategically situated on one of the most seismically active places on earth, Japan has forever been the victim of countless eathquakes and volcanic activities. So much so that it has become a way of life with them. Still, the Japanese have never faltered or given up. They have gathered all their resources and forged on ahead. Their immaculate discipline and hardworking nature has rendered Japan one the strongest economies of the world.

They were one of the fore-runners on the path to success when nature decided to have her way with them on 14th of March 2011 and unleashed her fury full-throttle on Japan in a form of a massive Tsunami and earthquake. People were still reeling from the massive shock of loss of life, property and means of livelihood when there boomed the monstrous threat of nuclear contamination from failure of their nuclear power plants, decapitated by the earthquake. In a morbid deja vu, Japan's worst nightmare has resurfaced. It is absolutely heartrending to see little children being scanned for radiation contamination.

The rest of the world clicks its collective tongue and murmurs sympathy, secretly relieved at being spared nature's wrath. Everyone agrees this is nature's retaliation to man's progress showing Man who is the boss. Then, they return home to watch the events in Japan unfold on their television sets while sharing space with the Cricket world cup. Every other country goes into protective mode and begins to put its own catastrophy management under the scanner. Audits are carried out in their respective nuclear power plants to check on their safety measures. More unscrupulous souls think of various ways of spreading panic among the masses through rumours. Numerous chain mails and SMSes are circulated warning forthcoming catastrophies like Acid rain, followed by others discrediting these claims. In this day when terrorism of all kinds is rampant, the least we can do is at least be honest to ourselves and considerate towards others. Even the traditional enemy of Japan, i.e. China has set all enmity aside to express solidarity for their suffering neighbour. It is ironical that there must be a grievous tragedy in order to find humanity in human beings.

Amid all the burgeoning chaos, we still see the people of Japan take stock of the situation and make a fresh start. It is, I think, their most admirable quality that has always helped them bounce back and I am confident that this time will be no exception. Hope is what makes the world go round. It is what we have.

The lure of the theatre

We youngsters slog like hell all week long and wait for the weekends so that we may get to do all that we can't find time for. But when the weekend finally arrives, we are left scratching our heads, wondering how to pass the time. Well, movies are an option, yes. But, have you seen the kind of movies thet have been gracing the cinema halls lately? To say that they are pathetic, unimaginative and lack-lustre, would be a gross understatement. Spending one's hard-earned money to watch the same run-of-the-mill girl-meets-guy-meets-girl-they-run-around-international-locales-fall-in-love no brainers seems like a horrid crime. Come to think of it, they hardly fall under the catagory of entertainment anymore. That's when we - my husband and I - decided to hit the theatres and get a load of actual emoting. At first, we were curious. We were entralled watching people perform right before our eyes. And then, we were hooked..!

The other day, we'd been to watch a hindi play called “Bikhre Bimb” meaning “Scattered Images”, at a well-known theatre in Bangalore called “Ranga Shankara”. It was a mono-action, produced by Girish Karnad and enacted by Mrs. Arundhati Nag depicting the inner turmoil of a woman who has recently shot to fame on the publication of her book after the death of her crippled sister who had been in her care. The book is based on the life of her sister, who, although paralysed from the waist down since birth and inching towards death every moment, never ceases to have a lust for life. The writer herself is a dull, drab woman working as a lecturer, living a monotonous life. And all of a sudden, she has a fully completed manuscript within a week of her sister's demise. She goes on to explain how loving and caring she had been towards her sister and had taken care of her every single whim. Feeling the loss of her sister, she claims to have penned down her lonliness. The play is an introspective battle between the right and wrong sides of the writer.

As the play progresses, one gets to learn that the writer and her husband have been enstraged ever since her sister's death which makes her question the nature of their relationship. Slowly, layer after layer, the story is unraveled and one is left dumbfounded at the complexities of the human nature when the truth is finally revealed. I will not spoil it by disclosing the climax of the play, in case you get the opportunity to see the play in the future. The narration, enaction and rendition of dialogues between the protagonist and her inner consciousness were brilliant, to say the least.

Plays are harder to perform, compared to movies. There are no retakes, for one. One blunder, and its out there for the world to see and judge. And no editing, either. What is out, is out. So much like real life. What really enchants me about plays is the passion of the artists. The way they put their hearts and souls into their performance. There are various kinds of plays too. Different genres, different languages, different ideas. And believe me, whether you want to or not, you get drawn into the play and become a part of it. In plays, even the audience are participants, albiet passive. Our reactions, our expression and body language influence the artists on-stage and determine the nature and gravity of the play. Before the play begins, one is requested to switch off one's cell phone and other external stimuli that might distract the artists and hamper the ambience of the play. It is another world in itself and must be experienced at least once in one's lifetime. It makes one delve deep into oneself and question the very foundations on which human nature is based. I have never once felt bored, no matter how the play turns out. It always manages to show me a bit of myself that I never knew existed before.

Donning the chef’s cap...

Since time immemorial, a woman and her kitchen are inseparable. While the man provides the food, it falls on the frail shoulders of the woman to present before a family, a filling meal. Before everything else, her culinary prowess marks her competence as a home-maker. Her social acceptance is, more often than not, based precariously on this very fundamental talent. And being a woman, one cannot shy away from her culinary responsibilities.

Till recently, I too had no faith in my culinary skills. I've always been an on again-off again cook who mostly takes to cooking as the last resort. If push comes to a shove, I tend to make the most of whatever is available at the moment and experiment with the most improbable of ingredients. I have been the butt of umpteen number of jokes for being an incompetent house-wife while my husband has been showered with sympathy at my behest. To tell the truth, I've never really tried my hand at serious cooking, my laziness being the sole reason. When I was single, living the happy life of a carefree young girl, I'd never felt the need to cook as my mother always ensured that I had the best food the moment I felt hungry. This, topped with an inherent sense of laziness, fostered in me a deep sense of complacency with regard to cooking. I'd rather eat canned or packaged food or even go hungry than cook myself a decent meal. The very idea of cooking was enough to douse my appetite. What the heck..! At the very least, I wouldn't be putting on unnecessary weight brought on by the love for food. Things were going smooth and it didn’t bother me much.

Typical of women of a bygone generation, my mother had always warned me, saying “you will have a tough time when you get married. Your mother-in-law will give you a sound thrashing when she learns about your attitude towards cooking”. I'd flippantly reply “Don't worry mother, I'll marry a guy who'll know how to cook.” True to my promise, my husband Arun, who was my high-school sweetheart and happens to know me in and out, is himself an excellent cook and a foodie to the core. And my mother-in-law, being the sweet person she is, has never exerted undue influence over me over the matter of cooking. She'd married quite early into a joint family and initially, she herself had been a novice to the kitchen. “Time will be your teacher”, she'd say, and I'd found wisdom in her words. But, like every other young person, I'd think “There's always time for that”. At any rate, my mother breathed a huge sigh of relief on my wedding day. I'd bagged the guy of my dreams and to my advantage, he is no stranger to the kitchen. Love was going to make up for my lack of interest in cooking and life was going to be perfect. Or so I’d thought.

A few months into marriage and I'd realised how wrong I'd been in thinking that my husband would do all the cooking. I was happy with doing the cleaning up afterwards, but that wasn't enough. Men, they say (especially those with a love for food) expect their wives to serve them scrumptious delicacies as had their mothers. And believe me, no amount of love can equate food. Food is food and love is love and neither can fill each other’s shoes. At one point of time, the comparisons start to seep in. Arun tries his best to inculcate a love of food in me. We even watch a number of cookery shows on TV together and marvel at the way food fit for royalty is passionately made. We’d comment on how it was both a science and an art-form in one. But, when it comes to pulling on my apron-strings, I always manage to weasel out somehow or the other. Arun just smiles sadly, shakes his head and enters the kitchen with a sigh. He is a sweet and caring husband, so he doesn’t mind much. But, as I said earlier, one shouldn’t be under the impression that love will make up for food. For any loving relationship to blossom and bear fruit, one must overcome one’s shortcomings and strive to be better. In my case, laziness and complacency need to be conquered. Someone once rightly said “where there’s will, there’s a way” and I’m going to give it my best shot.

So, I’ve decided, it is time to pave my way to my man’s heart through his tummy. I have finally decided to don the chef’s cap.

A fistful of earth

My eyes are dazzled,
blinded momentarily by the bright sunlight
when I raise my eyes to the sky.
Fascinated, I look on...
wondering what lies ahead.

The vastness entices me
beckons my thirsty soul with a promise of a brighter tomorrow.
And I almost spread my arms that I mistake for wings
as if to soar into the blue horizons
effortlessly, letting the winds guide me on.

But that dream, I know is a distant one.
Almost like a dying refrain
of a song in an alien tongue,
that had once perhaps twanged my heartstrings
but has long faded into nothingness.

Perhaps, I've gazed at that dream too long
to realise that it exists no more.
All that remains in its place is a vacuum, a numbness.
And when the dust settles at my feet in the gathering twilight,
There is a fistful of earth where I must grow my roots.