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Ask the One

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You smoke your life away
A hazy sooty release
for that instant rapture.
Ask the one
Consumed by incessant spasm
Devoured by fear
Of morbid uncertainty.
Of odds in living and dying.
Clutched with chemo
bidding to outrun Carcinoma.
Gasping for one lease,
Or a stroke of luck maybe!

You spent thousands
to have that illusion
called perfection.
The bridge of your nares(nose)
aligned symmetrical.
Another forsaken attempt
to fill the hollowness
of deep recess
gone astray.
Ask the one
Who lost her face,
The divine impression
of her uniqueness,
days until nineteen.
Perpetrated by cruelty
Unaware and unknown,
An attack acrid –
Harsh pungent reality
she exists and lives in.
Searching for her lost self
With leftover or no face maybe!

You have a portioned bite,
Not much to your fancy
neither upholds your fine taste.
A nibble here and dribble there,
Wide potpourri of savouries
until half picked other wasted.
Food catering to dainty senses.
Ask the one
The one with those
Ever urging growling stomach.
And the one with those
Ever famished wretched eyes.
scanning through the trash cans
every day and most of nights.
Hunting for source of sustenance
shreds, scraps or mouthful
anything will suffice.
Irony of misery in need;
Sharp biting pangs of hunger
even camouflages
filth, muck and sleaze.
And those ever beseeching prayers
amidst the rotting debris,
aching for nothing less than
a morsel of miracle.
Or something edible maybe!

You are as busy as bee.
Hundreds to manage
another fifty to oversee.
Little one came rushing –
overzealous, demanding and gushing.
You term those cry over nagging
and choose to disregard.
And at times uneasy and unwilling
you snort and lash it out.
Those ever seeking
attention and whims
takes a toll on you.
But at what price!
Ask the one
Emotionally barren
And physically depleted.
Feeling duped by nature
arid, abject and dispirited.
Latching to any
tiny ray of glimmer,
Like a drowning man
will clutch at a straw.
Little feet, kisses and snuggle,
A soul as chaste, gentle and raw.
All it Yearns for
A kindred bond and that soulful kinship,
A salvation from days of hardship.
A cackle which may fill
the unspeakable emptiness.
A silly tantrum which will spread
hue to blankness.
Or a chance to be called ‘mum’ maybe!

Life at times become undue and unfair,
Reasons may be many to whine and despair.
Behold and Bethink
The things which you take for granted,
Could be someone’s countless plea and earnest prayer.
Embrace your blessings
Indeed reckon them,
For the ripple it creates
will nourish your wounded soul.
And usher you to the world
of endless possibility out of nowhere.
Or else, there’s always at the least in your life
That One thing to be happy about maybe!

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To my MoonLight

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This one is going to be little personal; that corner of my heart, which has a softer, kinder and warmer touch in my life. Though I am always little jittery about writing things personal, being an introvert. But this kindred bond in my life with that faint, frosty beautiful bluish radiance of calmness and love like a moonlight holds my attention today, to let it out and share. Share what I always wanted to and be glad for what I have or am blessed with.

“Blessed be the ties that bind generations.”

She is the moonlight of my life and will always be, as I mentioned she is that antique little girl, with whom I share a doting bond and an affectionate link. She is my Grandmother, my Dad’s Mother.

Now she stays far away from me around thousand kilometres away. It’s not that I talk to her everyday but once in a full moon. But then when life becomes too demanding, even talking over a phone once a month surely seems suitable some of the time. But she is always there in my prayers. In my that self-made inner circle which consists of few of the precious ones in my life, she stays intact in there, always.

Why it is that I share such an exclusive tie with her? One of my very first early childhood memories, when she was not that old but a middle aged lady in her late forties may be, I remember distinctively how she used to make homemade kajal(modern day kohl) for me and my sister with great attention and care; kind of a traditional secret recipe mixed with pure charm. I grew up applying those on my eyes. That burnt castor oil traces still lingers in my sub conscious and I miss them dearly while applying my neatly packaged smudge free Maybelline colossal today.
As a saying goes in my homeland that applying kajal makes one’s eye appear beautiful. So I thank her today for filling my eyes with beauty; of beauty that encompasses pureness and richness of unconditional love. That beauty which surpasses physicality and reaches eyes of the soul and never smudges.

I always felt myself to be beautiful, though aware I am an average looking person. Somewhere this confidence in me was instilled by the loved ones all through out my growing up. Especially my Grandmother played a major role in this. She has always made me feel that beautiful. She made me believe that I am worth more than what life can offer, through her kind words. Today as a Mom, when I think deeper about it, I know What boost it did offer me being a child, having a belief on myself. So my earnest thankfulness to her to make me face those not so perfect days with the gift of tenacity through this faith that I can do it no matter what. I am always that twinkle in her eyes which shines brightly.

A Grandmother is a Mother with extra frosting.
And those days when I used to return back from my college classes, she will pull me to kitchen and put a succulent syrupy piece of sweetmeat; a mouthful of joy dripping all down my face, quite stealthily avoiding the prying eyes. As it was a big joint family and she didn’t wanted me to be devoid of these delectable relish before it’s been consumed by others. A sign of love which saw no boundary and is all pervasive and all powerful.
Thank you Grandma for imbibing in me the values of what love means which I can pass on as an inheritance; a lesson that you do whatever it takes to ensure that your kids are being loved and nourished.

And her innumerable tales with that warmth in her voice, which lavished my innocent tender years of growing up sprinkled with stardust. So how can I thank you for that priceless archives of imagination and a life beyond worldly that you planted on the seed of my mind in that impressionable years of mine!
Sleeping on your lap under the summer night stars or inside the winter blankets and listening to those inane yet virtuous fables will be treasured in safe haven of my heart ever, forever. And there were times when you fell short of a new story, even repeating the same ones still felt meaningful as if some zest added afresh or newness I found which I might have missed unintentionally.

And my gratitude for the innumberable times you stood for me, for against anyone even your own blood if they tried to hurt me in some way or other. Unconditional positive regard is rarely given by anyone except a very few and that’s what you offered me by trusting me effortlessly.

A grandmother’s love knows no distance.
And that special day of my life I was getting married to the man of my dream and you crossed 400 miles to be with me even if warned not to, for your deteriorated health conditions. I still remember what you said,
” How can I be not with my princess in this blissful day?, if I miss this then I will not forgive myself ever.”
And as I am penning these lines down, my eye are moist with tears but they don’t fall for the sheer strength of perseverance that you fostered in me through out the years with instances of grit like this.

And there are one and many more instances like these where you made an imprint on my heart with your loving, compassionate and affable selfless spirit. And I know I am your precious little thing that you will not bargain for anything or with anybody. And if in one line I can presume of what you assimilated on me, then that would be:
‘Never give up on Love’.
And I truly live with this surmise each and every day of my existence.

You are almost 85 now. As you have reached the autumn of your life and years of survival has wearied you down. These days when I call you and you still soak me with your warm loving words and then weep like a child grumbling and protesting why you should not be alive as being so primitive! That your eyes, knees, breathings and whole other systems are giving up day by day and that each day of existence is effortful and filled with pain at this stage of life. I hear but I pray and I still pray that you stay. That you don’t give up now. I know I am self-centerd in this but I don’t want to loose you ever as your love and affection is irreplaceable for me. We should all have at least that one person in our life who knows how to bless us no matter what and that’s what you are to me.

“They say genes skip generations.
Without my final acknowledgement, this piece of writing will remain unfinished and incomplete. I do remember when during one of your story sessions you revealed that how your Mother was a lady endowed with power of imagination and expression. You told me that she was a woman ahead of her generation. In those days of pre independent India, she was a connoisseur of words and literature and a gifted poet. Little did I knew at that point of time, what the word ‘Poet’ meant until I reached my School days.
But then sometimes when I write a verse or a note, and people ardently appreciate my effort or may be my skill, I wonder did my genetic code played a role in this. Surely, I don’t know the reason or have a clue for what makes me the way I am or aids me in expressing the things the way it is that might touch someone’s sensibility. But my heart do feel intensely grateful for what you passed on to me as a legacy knowingly or unknowingly.
“God Bless you My Moonlight, My Grandmother and Wish you Happy 85th Birthday.”

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On Whys and Hows – A Reminder to a Doting Mind

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Mr.Curious is surely impressed with Mr.Kipling and following his footsteps diligently as he has covered many a Whys and Hows, Who’s and What’s in this meagre six years of his mortal existence.

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My day begins with a question and ends with a one. On an average day, I have to endure an onslaught of around thirty formidable questions and the day when I am more fortuitous, it might go upto fifty. These questions can neither be avoided nor can I beat around the bush to avoid or delay them. Instead, it demands attention and seeks immediate intervention.

To dig and dwell deeper into the issue with much fervour, you can visit my article titled On Whys and Hows – A Reminder to a Doting Mind in Parentous.com at  http://www.parentous.com/2014/07/30/whys-hows-reminder-doting-mind/

Parentous.com is an acclaimed blog on parenting and an initiative by leading Indian blog BlogAdda. Parentous as a forum for parenting, is filled with all those little elements, thoughts, conversations, dilemmas, agony aunt tips, funny conversations, heart-rending episodes, experienced advice that come to govern the life of a parent. Thank you BlogAdda and team Parentous for this opportunity.

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The Prayers

 

This endearing piece of poem is a story of a woman who loses her mother in early childhood but then gets her back on last days of her life. Prayers do get answered but God has his own way. To quote:

“God answers prayers, but he doesn’t always answer it your way.”
– Lou Holtz

We need more than eyes to see that. Perhaps, we need some insight to comprehend that. To dig deeper, indulge in the lines written below,

   The Prayers

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The little girl prayed
Everyday
Can you give me my mother back?
The love that I lost
The warmth that it cost
Can u return to me my Mother back?
For what sin did I do!
For which I have to pay!
Being absolute you are
Deluge of kindness,
Can u replay for me
those stolen lullaby tracks?

With a longing heart
And poignant urge
Days passed
so the years too.
The flowers blossomed
And she did too.

When the time was ripe
And birds do chirped.
Sweet raptures of
untouched melody lurked.
The quest seemed over
With the suitor’s debut.
The union was favourable
Wedded bliss for two.
A Miss(girl) was born
To the Man and wife.
Life couldn’t be better
For all the strife.
For all these while
She picked
the flowers and thorns
and all the prudence
That life did adorn.

With a longing heart
And poignant urge
Days passed
And the years too.
The flowers withered
So she did too.

The daughter she bore
Was fond of her;
Cared, nurtured and
nursed as much she could.
As She groaned with pain
Sick in bed
Years cast a price on age.
The girl whispered sweet
Words of assurance
To the woman of grace
But pain abundance.
For I am there.
Don’t you worry,
In sickness and storm
your distress and glory.

You raised me up
It’s my turn now.
I am your mother
You’r sweet child of mine.
The role is reversed
It’s time you slow down,
Now remain assured
And loose that frown.
So she said
And kissed goodnight,
With an anxious heart
And prayers
for health and might.

As she lay there still
She had realisation.
The mother I longed
For so long
finally got her returned.
In my girl I see
The lost caregiver I yearned.
For what good i did!
I feel so blessed.
She felt overwhelmed,
But tears of contentment.
God smiled at her
And she smiled back
– The gladness in expression
For the kindness indepth.
Prayers do get answered
With zeal and earnestness.
Never loose your hope
Lesson learned in keenness.

The dreary night passed,
And the morning ushered fearless
The girl reached to wish Mother,
Eager and restless.
With her hands folded tight
She laid there motionless.
The face spoke calmness;
No suffering, no delight.
Tears of gratefulness
On her salt stained cheek
And the smile stayed intact
on her pale, lifeless lips.

 

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