The Pangram

 

A quick brown frog jumps over a lazy dog

Remember to use every letter in every sentence,
my teacher said

The idea was very intriguing
I was fascinated with how every letter found its spot in the same sentence
Some appeared more than once
Some in unexpected placements
Nevertheless, there was a place for every letter

I extended this idea to everything around
Went to the garden and picked one of every flower
Some bright pink, some deep red, 

But some were also mellowed pastels

Nevertheless, I strung everything into one bouquet

How so obsessed could I have been
I added every vegetable in the same stew
Topped it with every spice from my mother's kitchen cupboard
I was so sure that everything has to find its place
And everything will find its place


I went to the temple,
No doubt, I knew every God had their place
Turns out, they didn't
Atleast we convinced ourselves that they won't
Extended further, not every believer had their place
Some barely managed a spot outside the temple
But some had their chance to be close up
And a lot somewhere in between

The funny thing about patterns is-

Irrespective of whether you are convinced or confused

You get to see more of it

My mind that was once convinced 

That everything has to have a place and will find it's place

Started questioning its possibility

Why is it that intelligence of a human mind
That managed to bring every letter in one sentence
Couldn't bring every prayer and every wish under one steeple and Shikhara
Why is that what is right and wrong
Is not always 'right for all' and 'wrong for all'

Why wait for a law to tell us 
That people cant be treated different based of their choices
Why wait for a day or week or month 
To remind us that without shades and variations the world would only be monochrome

Lets not mistake portions of the puzzle
To be the entire puzzle
And our puzzle has 8 billion pieces
Some pieces bigger and some smaller
But the puzzle will be unsolved
Even if one of them don't find its place

Things we carry

Remember those unanticipated evenings
on the shore, by the sunset
building sand castles
choosing names,
choosing people,
decorating homes little flags, porches and windows
building little dreams
rejoicing like it were real
Leaving the shore 
with sand stuck between the toes
even after the castles were washed away
over and over again
Handful of sand grains in tiny shoes
like it were held together by some super glue

Things we carry-
Little memories

super glued, like it will forever hold  

I, her own witness

 2002:

The girl loved everything grand and glittery
Sparkles, Christmas lights, sequins in frocks,
Houses with chandeliers,
Gifts wrapped in shining ribbons
She believed, the more flashy things are,
The better they should be
She believed bigger wishes are for special events
And deeper prayers are for bigger places

2012:

That teenager loved more abstract things
Heard words that could neither be touched, nor felt
But definitely observed and understood
She was caught in the
Outer spirals of this idea called success;
The mirage called
Happiness, freedom and self expression,
love, hate and indifference,
guilt, grief and greed
Knew every prayer was a detailed wishlist;
With specifics of what, when, how and who
She was sure it would all happen
Exactly the way she wanted, 

There weren't two ways to the same goal

2022:

The girl, hopefully with many years ahead still
Now has learnt
Some fancy things are like the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
And some wishes are crisply folded letters

Some concepts are yet to be questioned

And some prayers are a silent 'thank you'

She has learnt
Goodness of simple keepsakes
And some ideas that could be namesakes

She has learnt 

Some promises are to be fulfilled, 

Some are to be kept

She has learnt
Some sharp rocks smooth over time
That some mountains today stand where oceans once were

She believes things change, things evolve
She evolves
She = I, her own witness 

Moments of Joy

Seasons & People

I didn't entirely enjoy rainy days-

Never wanted my hair frizzy

and shoes dirty

My mother warned me that I'll appreciate it's worth after they are gone

Wasn't fond of winters either-

Never wanted to feel anything cold

and drive through the foggy road

My mother warned me that I'll appreciate it's worth after they are gone

Summers weren't any different-

Never wanted sweat stains on

and step out in the sun

My mother warned me that I'll appreciate it's worth after they are gone

Summer of 2020 was a roller coaster 

We never wanted to ride,

The deadly virus- we fight and hide

Loved ones- my family lost in the blink of an eye

What wouldn't we trade to re-write the summer of 2020

My mother was right- we only appreciate seasons (and people) after they are long gone

Magic

There's something magical about first impressions- like petrichor

The scorching heat has left burns on my fingers;
And a crack on everything I held on to;
Every time I gather the courage to feel the last ounce dampness,
I'm left with shattered pieces of what once stood strong.

Why is 'warmth of heart' associated with comfort?
How should I know the difference between warmth and heat?
What should I do before the flame takes away everything?
Leaving nothing to salvage.

When everything is lost, there's the first raindrop,
Reaching out to everything I once held.
It wasn't the surprise of the first drop that was magical;
Nor the hope of louder showers.

Magic was in the essence it brought;
Rising through my nostrils,
Healing what was once dead,
Renewing everything that once existed.

Creating a first impression once again- just like petrichor

Black & White

Somewhere between biting winters and blazing summers is a spring to delight

Somewhere between bright days and dark nights is the warm colour of twilight

Somewhere between a parched land and unsettled floods are drizzles by the window side

But where is your betwixt and between in

Trust and doubt, 

Hope and despair, 

Integrity and deceit

How conveniently you sneak

Between those 1s and 0s, a million numbers;

Between a yes and no, a cowardly dodge and a hopeless silence;

You plead for a half-way and a middle ground

When all you do is straddle the fence?

Fiction often has a bit of reality,

But never enough to change the genre

A chain of lies and a bit of truth, doesn't alter the extent of certitude 

For those that are extremes, they have no in-betweens.