Living through the lens

As I put my phone frantically in my purse after attending a call full of instructions from my mother, I hastily ran on the steps , sprinkled with flowers with a strong added artificially perfumed smell, which I think was on purpose,  to massacre everyone's  smell receptors within seconds (whoever it was,  they won!). As I finally reached the wedding hall, which took almost  all my Sherlock inspired thinking, to locate it, I heaved a sigh of relief. 
                  As I entered the hall, there were numerous flashes hitting the pupils of every mortal inside. One thought immediately was of Paparazzi. But owing to the  pickety nature of the host family itself,  I abandoned that idea. When I came to my worldy senses again, the flashes were lashing from none other than that of our beloved other halves- cell phones. As my panoramic eyes captured the surroundings, I got the overall notion of the lightening struck room. From a six year old , partially toothless kid to the eighty year old , completely toothless grandpa, almost  every eye was "enjoying"  the wedding through the lens. The selfie sticks hurled into the air from one angle to another, like diwali phoolchadis  ready to sparkle. Even the bride and the groom were not spared. Somewhere in the corner of the room, I noticed that the actual wedding photographer was enjoying his meal, joyfully thanking his multiple substitutes in the mind.                   

              After I congratulated the newly wed couple, I took refuge besides a grandma who was enjoying her afternoon dose of paan masala. She grinned at me with her red stained pearls and offered me some sweets from her basket. Kindly declining, keeping in mind,  my over the top mood, I listened to her 'young days' stories while she tirelessly searched for a suitable groom for me , from amongst the flashy mob. "May God save his species" , I thought, as I let myself fall into the young grandma's pensieve again.

The Burning Earth

As the sun raised it's heat, the intensity began to melt and burn  everything weak around it. The leaves, ground, water and even the skin were not spared. In the small shelter at the corner of the farm, which Krishi called it his home, was lying a small crooked  'chaarpoy' at the corner. A woman around her mid-age, with fresh freckles and wary paleness on her skin, shivered under a dark blue, smelly still warm blanket. The strength of the sun could not catch her soul. The fever had reached it's peak now and there was nothing that Krishi could do about it, except care for her and be with her. Being a farmer,  with this situation, there was no one around to take care of his dying and half burnt farm. The perennials were way too before perished in the fire. the farm was a barren land in the hope to emerge again from it's own ashes. The poverty was now gulping his entire existence now. Moreover, to add to his impending worries, his  10 year old son Pravar had gone to his distant relative for his summer vacations.
                    In the evening, while putting some wet, warm soaked cloth on his wife's forehead, he heard a loud noise from the sky which felt as if the planet was crumbling into pieces. The sound grew louder and louder and then, ended with a loud thud and the ground shook vigorously for a few seconds. Krishi ran outside at the top pace, his heart pounding wildly and fearfully. Once outside, he could not believe what his eyes saw. A large ship like thing had crashed into his door with the pieces scattered around half a mile across. The parts were light years away from the question of repairing but at that moment, Krishi did not care about the parts. His heart was leaping slowly, as he moved himself close to the airship hoping what he feared the most. As he peeped through a broken window, there lay a human body inside gasping for breathe and trapped inside his own protective gear. Second thoughts about this whole thing encircled Krishi as he was about to move away from the entire scene. But the thought about bad omens changed his mind. He crashed the piece of metal with his one strong, rusty hand and pulled out the dying man out of the bonds and carried him to his hut, on his shoulder. Having learned the first aid process from his old man , he tried to breathe him back to life. Fortunately, he could feel a weak pulse and a light breathing, as he covered all his wounds with the white clean cloth teared apart from his shirt. As the health care centre was over a half an hour walking distance, he had to get going by the time it got all dark outside. He carried the person over to his wooden handcart and began pushing the cart to the destination while his wife was fast asleep on the cot.
                   As he reached the health care premises, the injured man, suddenly grasped his hand and pulled it towards him with all the little might left within him. As Krishi bent towards him, he tried to speak something but all he could hear was a gasp of thin air puffing out of the mouth. He hurriedly carried him to the hospital and handed him over to the doctors. As he was returning to his ailing wife, the doctor, who knew him personally, thanked him as he had checked the man just in time. Otherwise, it would have been too late. Heaving a sigh of relief, he returned home walking the dark road.
                     Years passed after his wife's sudden death and Krishi was the sole caretaker of both, his son and his farm. Although the condition of the farm was not improved, he had made peace with his fate and lived a life of wariness and mental harassment that had engulfed him completely. One fine morning of autumn, there was a knock on his door. He was surprised as nobody had knocked his doors in years, except that time when the relatives had come to say goodbye to his dead wife. He opened it and a stranger wearing a suit and glares handed him an white, shiny envelope which was quite heavy when he took it. He enquired about it but just got a reply " read it yourself". As he closed the door behind him, there was a letter tucked in the bundle of money which he took out. The man whom he had saved years ago was an aerospace engineer and had written to ask his permission to adopt his farm and his family which included himself and his now 19 year old son Pravar.
                     The thunder in his heart knew no bounds as he sat on the ground still holding the letter as if it was an alien. The wariness, distress, poverty, tolerance had finally met their fate of tragic deaths. The burning earth around Krishi was suddenly cooled down.

                       

Senses Overloaded!

My cousin is a belieber. I think tracking his  every move through social media is quite weird besides the fact that she actually likes Justin Bieber.  But now, she knows his brush colour, his favourite styling gel and maybe the colour of his underwear too!! Who knows? But this is a fact nowadays.
               Information is brooding and bleeding from every corner of the electronic devices.  And we keep ourselves busy to get the whole of it. We get so attached to something that we wash it , twist it and dry every possible drop out of it just like we do while we are washing clothes. Our eyes chase an object till it's last breath.  The saying "ignorance is bliss" is emerging as the ultimate truth. Mr- honest-enough-to-survive is now not so cooler than mr-know-it-all.( the coolest) .
       If you read a book and discuss it, don't get surprised if the other person recites the whole biography of the author. This depth of knowledge might throw some goosebumps on a layman.Our ears are at the edge to hear things till the sound fades forever. Our nose stalks a certain smell to such an intensity,  that it becomes rather annoying later. Try one thing when you aren't googling or watching some innovations on youtube. Take a cup of beverage , release that tightly bound strings around your brains and feel that breeze which will flow around your thoughtless mind. Once for a while.

With a windy gush cometh happiness!

They say that happiness is hidden in nooks and corners of that hidden cracked walls which comes out all of a sudden and takes us into it's arms by surprise. What if I say it's true and is experienced in reality. The feeling is just incomparable and  incapable of being reversed. You just get swooped off your feet and are floating in the air.
              Your first snow, falling in flakes on you first and on the ground next with such an intensity that you get used to it within seconds. The green lushy trees, surrounding you turn on their polka dot style and lighten around you. There is a certain aura which keeps your mood elited at all times without getting help from alcohol or it's kind. the wild dogs following you in the most sophisticated manner you could ever imagine in your dreams, making a way for you to climb atop a slow laden mountain. the changing weather from time to time makes you feel vulnerable but then, you realize that you are more stronger than you were or you thought you would be making you proud of yourself. The hymns chanted by the leaves rustling against each other making the water on them squeeze itself and make a resonating echo on it's way to the ground. This is the pure music falling on your ears that you have never heard of. That satisfaction when you enjoy the first cup of tea touching your lips which does not make  you all acidic and bloaty. That calls for cheers as you have not achieved it in 24 years of your not- so- interesting- till- now -life.

                   You surely look at things quite differently than you used to before evidencing such miracles in your own country.That is apparently impossible if you don't have a good company- and by good I mean awesome. Like all the people with you are thinking and behaving with the same intensity and wavelength, sticking with you no matter what. I believe that these moments come with rarity in everyone's life but it's possible if you first take a step forward and then,  let life do all the rest. Believe me when I say this that it's mesmerising and sacred all at once.
                       Dedicated to all the strangers who are now an inseparable part of my journey, I call LIFE.

Hollowness

  The cracked stone walls wore the

  laminated heads of the murdered  

  creatures on it's chest , 

  like a broach ,with careless pride, 

 

The chandelier hung riskily by its ever-loosening threads,

Filling  the room with the echoes that sounded far deeper than it's empty air. 

  The worn out carpets still shining with    the eternal richness of it's golden threads ,laid flat on the ground , welcoming the royal feet with it's velvety feel. 

The fungoid wooden door with rusted red- black chains hanging,

 a ghastly creek heard every time it moved, echoed it's real age. 

The majestic ,oval , stained mirror, 

stuck in the middle of the room , 

echoed the essence of the entire area. 

It's diamond filled frame caught the smirk of the soul peeking in it, 

perfectly reflecting the hollowness. 

World through a window

At around 5 am in the morning, the cattle was grazing the green lush fields. Their sheds were now ready to be cleaned. The lumps of cowdung which decorated the greenery,  like a pudding, were still glowing - a displaying the sign of their freshness. The cool breeze was now raising the hair on my skin. Still I managed to enjoy it somehow resisting the shivering which was now evident to others. 

               

           The skies were still dozing, forgetting to make way for the sun. The stacks of hay which were kept in heaps now scattered all across the soil, their own weights challenging the air. I gazed through the glass stained bar window, at the changing rails , their hands soldered to one another. The speeding train next to mine swiped everyone's laziness like a sandstorm blowing the rooftops. I suddenly shuddered my way out of the world through the window. 

           

Defying death

The dark yet silver lined clouds invaded the sky late that evening. The stars , the moon and other heavenly bodies eventually hid behind the dark curtain. She hurried on the way back to her apartment. Susan's bike was now making  horrendous sounds like a huge engine about to crash. The next thing she  heard was a big thud and she was on the ground with her bike disembodied and broken, having hit the pole. Though her stop was a few minutes away, the current situation made the 10 meter walk quite challenging. Yet, exhaling a heavy breath of the humid air, she stood on her weak coping legs and trying to put the everything back, she somehow managed to assemble the pieces and began to walk. The torn border of her dress fluttered in the air, the fabric covered by the seams now inhaling as much air as it could. She continued her struggle to reach home as fast as she could. Afterall, it was her dear mayflower, blossoming in the earthen pot soaking as much humidity as it could. But now, it was in utmost need of water and it's only saviour was Susan, who was stuck in her little mishap. 

              After toiling for a while at the attempt of walking, she looked at her worn knees. The  knees, scratched had stopped bleeding by now but the pain was still lingering. The dark clouds above were now roaring at their highest pitch and Susan felt a drop of water on her sweaty, dehydrated forehead. A new hope awakened and her feeble attempts now gained strength. After walking a few steps, the skies burst suddenly and water gushed out of it sprinkling its shower on everyone in its way. A tired Susan suddenly heaved a sigh of relief and sat down suddenly looking above as if thanking, as her dying little kid in the pot now was getting its life back- drop by drop. 

Bharat, Bharatiya and our sugar coated hearts

There is no use of blaming the diabetes when our own hearts are coated, dipped and wrapped with the sugary syrup. The sweetness that overcomes the spicy tastes of guilt when it overfills and spills over. When the mirror of introspection is far deep buried under the dust of lies and misunderstandings provoked  by the winds of our own kind.

                   

           Then comes other ways to cover the tiny reflective spaces left on the shiny surface. You can throw some more dust on it if you want just by blaming other people for their wrong deeds. The person  can be anyone- your choice- from our neighbours to the prime minister. Just play a card and the continuous, irritating, deceitful game of 'blaming' will start with a full energy. But you should consider one thing if you are playing this game, that is you are the most grounded, truthful, sanskaari person ever! If your sugar coated mirror shows that, then you may emerge as a winner! Who knows??!!

           While the game is going, you can withdraw from it, take a clean cloth of conscience and a disinfectant bottle of veracity and try shining your mirror. If every Bharatiya does that, we can see our Bharat studying in the scholar batch of developed countries!! Just break that deceitful sugary candy sticking to your heart and lo! 

ऊधाण

चहु बाजूनी,जेव्हा दिशाहिन झाले मन,

हरपले ध्यान, ठेविली बुद्धी कुठे गहाण? 

फोफावितो वारा, येतो अंगावर शहारा, 

झाले ऊधाण काळीज, चिंता गेली का निघूनं? 

The ungratified goblet.

A thirsty, homeless handicap,
finds solace in a drop of rain,
Dribbling along his throat,
like a pearl, it heals all the pain.

The sight of a merrily hopping antelope,
Dilates the lion's eyes with hunger.
The predator after it's feast, doesn't set an eye on a soul,
Leave aside the bargains of a shameless monger.

The ever barren lands, crave for the touch of water,
With their cruel state, they still manage to give others their quarter.
When the skies pour  their happiness on their face,
They sink it in, but not more than their  sorter. 

From wealth, health to inglorious stealth, we have grabbed,
When even these mindless, virtuous  souls know their morals
Will the goblet of our hearts beat for unending discontent,
till it lies in the grave under the florals.

A blind pretentious Tamasha indeed!

When I tune in the television nowadays, all I can see is this deceptive,  misleading word called "matargashti" , decorated with a foreign location (of course to woo the Indian audience) , a fandomised cast ( if that's actually a word) and a cute mimicry of Dev Anand  (hey! Don't judge me! That's what we girls call it nowadays!) - a failed attempt to woo the older audience.... probably.  By now you must've probably realised where this is going!!  Wait! Wait! Relax Brodas and Sistas!I  am not going to start writing a movie review.
          It's just that the idea of a movie, being celebrated and hyped as an"art movie" didn't get my concurrence quite well. Just because it is an Indian team doesn't mean it will win the World cup every year. Exactly like that, just because it is a movie directed by a talented and appreciated director doesn't mean it's an art movie. Have you ever heard of the movies like Ida, Fiddler on the roof,  12 angry men or in our bollywood, dhobi ghaat, detective Byomkesh Bakshi or a Wednesday or Elizabeth Ekadashi, killa  or Shwaas in marathi ? These movies come into that category.  When I call my friends they tell me the story of the film from their aspect. And believe me that till today I ve heard different stories of the same movie. Then I wonder, is there something wrong with my hearing? The different, drastically changing moods of the actor depicted in the movie would surely be the subject of discussion of the psychiatrists all over the world. And well , definitely the top subject in the mental rehabilitation centres.  It's very confusing what's going on in the movie till there comes an interval which leads to the easiest decision in the lives of some people ever.  To leave the cinema hall.  If someone sits through the now tensed environment, they will surely end up besides the nearest popcorn stall just like the actor in the movie ends up near a rickshaw stand, confused.
       So, to end my review, oh was it? If your family, friends or you like Ranbir or Deepika, don't institute the term 'anything for you' here.
     Thank you for reading this because what happens in my blog, stays in my blog. .... ok I ll shut up now.
             

What the world needs now?

Yes. The answer you are murmuring to yourself, is absolutely correct. But do we imply this "love" appropriately?  Sure we love our families, friends, admirers, praisers, etc.  But this context of love,has taken a back seat due to many recent tragic  and intolerable events

           The world needs love which ascends with the victory over hatred.  Love which aromatises,  when the selfishness within us is burnt. Love which floats aloof when the roots of our carelessness have sunken deep in the water. It needs to become more liberal, with it's wings spreading across the barriers of language,  ethnicity,  country, religion.  It needs to have minds thinking freely rather than enacting the fools.  In this time of independence,  our chained minds should be freed and fill one side of the weighing scale with Samaritan acts as the other side will ultimately lighten with shame. But for all this to become actually possible,  we should possess, a sense  of sanity.  

" Happiness can be found even at darkest of times,  if one remembers to turn on the light"

             As I quote Dumbledore,  try to live life with sanity , freedom and kindness. The love will eternally follow you. 

An ode to Rusty

Hey Mrs Rowling, petrificus totalus!!!

Dear Mrs Rowling,

      With the younger generation , all excited about your new Harry Potter play, " the Cursed child", it pretty much brings my hopes down. Just imagine our Harry, dressed in a suit,  kissing his wife and children goodbyes and  off to work in the ministry of magic as  an Auror, with most of his days drowned in the loads of paperwork! Pretty unimaginable and well,  non- magical.  And to add to this babbling,  bumbling band of baboons, Albus Severus Potter is the "cursed child'!! I mean calling a child , with all the privileges and fame, cursed,  is a lot mudbloody, don't you think?
               Moving on,  the new upcoming movie about the ' Fantastic Beasts' author Newt Scamander, is pretty much hyped too, with all the popular  casts and crews hired to play the characters ,along with a big budget special effects team.  Yes!!! We all are very much excited , to see a wizard,  with half of his life,  spent chasing animals.
              Is the whole thing,  a feeble attempt to keep the series alive in our hearts? Well,  the Harry Potter fandom is content with the original seven book series which,  Mrs Rowling  wrote in her sane days. The attempts to turn the whole magical world lucrative,  is just going to turn back and destroy the whole essence of it. Would it be wrong if I compare your new ideas with the horcruxes?   Isn't that ironical,  Mrs Rowling?

             I would only advice you to not  let it fade away  and bask in the glory of the halo, which is still shining on you. Because its Dumbledore , who has immortalized your thoughts, ( which I 've slightly modified), that " Memories are our most inexhaustible source of magic.  Capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it. " So let us bend in our pensieve of memories to live them again, rather than to create more  artificial , lucrative ones.

                                 With love and pity, 

                  Your eternal and tolerable fan.

         

You frighten me sometimes....

Silence

Hoaxed

Breathing for a glance

She looked at her watch. The mailman was half an hour late. Divya always thought of Raju, as her lucky mail deliverer , who always brought some good news, about her relatives with him, every week. After she turned her sand-clock upside down, thrice, her sharp ears heard the bicycle ring. A stranger riding a bicycle dressed in khaki ,sped towards her and handed her the mail, in a hurry. Unable to understand, Divya asked the mailman quite loudly," Where's Raju?". The old man replied with a deep unbothering  tone ,"He was transferred last week. I'm your new mailman from now." With those words, he turned his bicycle and drove away, with the same speed ,as if the earth beneath him was crumbling away.

                      Hearing those words, a small fading memory, turned bright as a sun, in front of Divya's dilated eyes. The same her, thirteen years ago from now, flashed her vision. A timid ,dark-haired girl sat on the classroom  bench eagerly waiting, for her favorite subject to be taught that day, like many other days.  A subject which was her most hated one till last year ,had suddenly become her most loving now. She looked forward to that class more than anything.

                      When her teacher arrived, her world would become a merrier place. Miss Jacobs would greet the children in the most enthusiastic way and ask the students to tell their dreams, their passions and tell them the stories about her own experiences. she would present herself in the most casual manner. Her high heels would perform their tap dance ,as she climbed the classroom's stairs. Her wavy hair ,tied in  a bun and fixed with a large clip ,would eventually find their way out, after a few minutes. Her perfectly fitting chudidar  looked dazzling with a matching  dupatta which hung around her neck, like a scarf does, in the cold winds. For Divya , she was a sign of perfection, her role model ,who just showed no signs of a single fault. When she started teaching, Divya's world would be focused on the blackboard and the book. Miss Jacobs' voice mesmerized her and she would go in a literary world of Robinson Crusoe. That's what she taught. The pictures she drew on the board, explaining the story , became alive, animated if, in her mind, she was on the island, with the sea, with Friday.

                       On the Christmas Eve, she would exchange gifts with all of them, sing and play merrily with them and tell stories about the Eve, which the children enjoyed whole-heartedly. When she got bored of teaching, she would close the book and tell them her own childhood stories and fun moments.

                       When the half hour of the class ended, that world would just be gone- vanished within a snap of a finger.  Six months went by happily and dreamily. But one Monday, a big , fat, rowdy man came in the class and started reading aloud from the book. On looking at the confused glimpses, of the students, he told them lazily, not bothered ," Miss Jacobs has been transferred and from now I will be your new teacher."

                         From that day on, classes were never the same for Divya.  Life for her now, was gloomy with nothing to look forward to. She felt betrayed, cheated, thrown away. How could she go so suddenly? would she see her again?

Divya  flipped out of the memory. How vivid it seemed! The deja-vu which had just happened, had taken her back to the memory. All these years, despite of Divya's  wishful thinking , she still prayed for Miss Jacobs' safety and good.  That was a memory she preserved, the memory, which was etched in her heart, of a person, she was breathing for, just for a glance.

                       

Reflection

Envisaged contentment

Ever felt the touch of a ripple, 

of cold, flashy shimmering  wave on your feet ?,

bathing your toes with the running droplets , eager to touch the soil. 

Ever heard the wind gushing through the trees?,
the leaves chiming their way aside, for their unstoppable ally ,

making everyone shudder, with its invisibility cloak.

Ever seen a squirrel , it's warm, bushy tail?,

tiptoeing it's way, to the highest acorn on the tree, 

secretly nodding to the group,  approving the way trespassed.

Ever smelled the path that leads to wilderness?, 

the untouched, dry, crisp, roasted,  fallen leaves,

not stamped by a single living soul, directing you to the dense green world ahead. 

Ever spoken and imagined the world ?

where the mother Earth is rejoicing amidst her unprovoked , reposed world 

free from the gaze of calamity.