Saturday 11 November 2017

Words between her lines...

There are words she doesn't want you to read
They are buried deep inside her;
It stings and tears her apart
But she doesn't write it down

She doesn't want to be judged for the scream of her heart
There are stories between her lines...

There are words  that keep her caged;
that keep her chained
Like ghosts it haunts her each night 
But she doesn't speak it loud

She doesn't want to be ridiculed for the scars on her face 
There are words between her words...

She caged herself to show you the mirage,
She trampled her sentences till they no longer meant what it meant, 
She imprisoned her words to set you free.

There are words between her words 
There are stories between her pauses
There is a crushed spirit between her smiles

There are words between her lines


Friday 1 September 2017

Why do I look for those like me?

I look out for people. Not anybody. But those; only those who talk, read, eat, pray and laugh like I do. Only those who think and dress and live like I do. Say hello!
I don’t know you, your path and valleys. I don’t know your nightmares, daydreams, wishes and hope. I believe, but, there is only one right way and that’s my way; maybe untrue, nevertheless strong. Bigoted!
No singular truth and universal false, I know. Still I will call you wrong. Laugh at you; your choices; your existence. Funny!
‘Love everyone, friends, foes and all alike’ my religion says. But I hate, reject, mock, shoo away and blame it all on religion. What would God be thinking? Laughing? Orthodox!
Stubborn, narrow, immovable, intolerable, inflexible, judgmental, conceited; sorry, there is no room for you. Mind is so full of self; holding on to things, judgments, attitude and opinions. Haven’t learnt yet to let go, haven’t learnt to clean up, create room and catch-up. Lonesome!
So full of self and still can’t love self- complete and full. I want to see me in you. Can’t say I love me, but I’ll claim to love you. Silly!

And yes! All of this and all of me is all of you. Certainly!

Sunday 30 July 2017

Maybe, Just Maybe

What would it be like,
to never have made a wrong choice?
What would it be like, 
to really feel complete?
What would be like to sincerely say
"It can't get better"?

Maybe, just maybe;
There are no wrong choices
or bad decisions as you call it

Every 'the unforeseen' had to be fought
Every 'I wish' had to be overlooked
Every experience carved a newer you

Maybe, just maybe;
Every storm needed to be
Every 'Yes' was meant to be
Every parting ways had to be 


Maybe,just maybe
With everything you let go,
You lost a little of you
So that, when you finally look up
and see a part of you in the stars
You'd have learnt by then 
To say, 'It can't get better'

Friday 14 April 2017

The Empty Swing

The sun sunk lower and the day light was fading away slowly. The heat of the summer breeze calmed down and the old fashioned windows made patterns on the floor as the dusk rays filled her house and she? She sat by the window sipping slowly from her cup of tea like time would wait for her. The ticking-off clock in the drawing room was her only companion. Such was the silence around. Out from the window she could see the empty swing almost still and almost rusted and worn-out. Rekha smiled to herself as she replayed her life 20 years ago.

“Wake up darling!” The first alarm goes for Aiyana. With a little tickle and a loving kiss Aiyana gets the first glance of her own guardian angel with her eyes half-open. Her name, ‘Aiyana’ meant forever- Rekha’s forever.

Rekha’s days are packed. Every minute knows it’s routine. She wakes up well ahead of the sun. Prepares breakfast that never has satisfied every member of the family, packs lunch in each one’s boxes, get ready for another hectic day at office, in between there is always a sticky spot on the floor, dirty laundry, dishes in the sink and then there was the biggest task; getting Aiyana ready to school.

I’m not going today mama” cries Aiyana, “just this one day”. This is also part of the routine. After multiple wake-up calls and 10 minute snoozes Rekha manages to drag Aiyana out of her bed. Uniforms to be ironed, books that were all around the house need to find its place in her school bag, fill water bottles and snack, polish shoes and ensure homework is done. “Quick Aiyana! Eat fast! Finish your breakfast” she hurries as she ties her little hair, pulls her sock and in no time there comes the school bus honking.

Phewwwww! Rings a bell? Why wouldn’t it?

These morning circus scenes are no different anywhere. Moms, also known as commanders-in-chief set the rhythm going for each day, all year round, through the years so long. Special, aren’t they?

There were days Rekha wished for this uproar to end. She wanted a time when she no longer had to put toys back into the box, have undisturbed sleep at night and when she didn’t have to worry about what needs to go into Aiyana’s lunch box the next day and when she can have a peaceful time for herself. She was worn out from the monotony of her days.

But Aiyana was the cure to all her stress, heart-ache, tension and monotony. Evenings were their favorite time. Aiyana loved her swing. The bright pink swing seat fastened by linked chains on both sides would wait all day for the little girl to step on and sway up as her mom pushed her higher and higher. Every time the swing went up in the sky, Aiyana would make a squeal that was every grown-up’s envy, quite naturally!

From the day Aiyana was born, she became the centre of Rekha’s world and her entirety. Now and then Aiyana gave little surprises- first word spoken, first step taken, first drawing, first day at school, first ride on her bicycle and first of many other things. Through laughter, bruises, not-so-good days, parent-teacher meetings, sports days and graduation her little girl grew; grew right in front of her eyes and Rekha at all times felt that time had cheated on her.

Aiyana is now a confident young woman who was flown far away from her but much closer to her dreams. The proud mom broke inside when she had to wave good-bye. Her long-wished days were hers now. She could have undisturbed sleep, no more toys lying around, no more lunch box packing. But walls were never so gray. They were beginning to lose life without the laughter of Aiyana. So was Rekha.

The clock still ticks and the tea is cold. Rekha mind was filled with million memories, thousand thoughts and one person. The thing about memories is that no one would ever read your thoughts, feel your pain and see your smile and tear, but you.

A faint ring-tone shoved her back to the moment and her Skype said “Aiyana calling”

What would Rekha not give away to get back those days of morning circus scenes and evening fun of swinging her little girl?

At the front yard, the empty swing still waits.