Saturday, August 29, 2009

From the Diary of a Daily Passenger : Chapter 10

Anindita arrived at the station early. Her seat was occupied. A big family was traveling. Lots of suitcases and bags lay about, children kept running around, mothers at their heels calling them back. She walked round to the next seat. It was empty. She sat down at one side of it and listened to the family chattering about hundreds of things. What she deciphered was that they were heading for a marriage in Patna and from there they would be going to Shimla for a vacation. It was fun listening to the chattering.

One of them shouted, “Neha, did u pack the eggs?”

A young married woman (must be Neha) replied, “Oh Shit ! I kept it on the table, but forgot to put it in. Now?”

The one who had initiated, replied, “I knew you would do it. You always miss on something every time.”

Neha smiled sweetly full of guilt and said, “I am so sorry Gauri didi. What will happen now?”

Gauri shouted at the top of her voice, “Did u hear Ma? Neha left the eggs at home.”

People around turned to look.

An old woman a little father away replied back louder than Gauri, “Again? What will happen now? How many eggs were there?”

Gauri said, still maintaining the volume “Twelve! All Boiled! I don’t think it would last two weeks.”

Anindita smiled. Forget about two weeks. Wouldn’t last two days. People around smiled.

The old woman looked worried. “Now what?”

Gauri said, volume still maintained at maximum, “What ! Nothing ! They will rot and when we come back, I wonder how we would step into that smelling house.”

The old woman got a bit irritated, and muttered, loud enough to be heard by every soul who were around, “Three daughter-in-laws and still you forget to pack the eggs. You are so lucky to have me. If it had been my mother-in-law, you would have been dead by now. Twelve eggs ! It is so costly.” Then she raised her volume to maximum again and asked, “ Haan Neha?? What will you feed Ketan now? That gentleman son of yours doesn’t take in a grain of rice without non-veg.”

Neha smiled guiltily and replied, “Don’t worry Ma, I will arrange something for him.”

Neha called, “Ketan come here.”

A little boy of about three years was squatting at the edge of the platform. He the upper half of his torso, still in the same position and looked at Neha. “Ma, come here. See here is a snake. It is dead.”

“No, you come here. Come fast.”

Ketan did not budge. Neha got up, walked upto him and pulled him to the bench where Anindita was sitting and sat down.

Quietly she said, “Ketan, I forgot to pack the eggs. You wouldn’t make a fuss while eating tonight, right?”

Ketan made a face. Neha explained, “If you make such a face, grandmother will get angry with me. She loves you so much, she will scold me that I did not bring the eggs for you. And if she becomes very angry, she might leave me in some unknown station and then what will happen to me?”

Ketan thought for a moment and then smiled, “No, she won’t do that.”

Neha said, “What if she does?”

Ketan replied, “She won’t. I know. But okay, if you are afraid, I will eat without the eggs. But get me some fish tomorrow. Now come and see the snake.”

Neha and Ketan got up. Neha glanced at Anindita as Ketan tugged at her arm. Anindita and Neha smiled at each other.

And with that, the egg-fuss was over. The old woman kept muttering. Gauri and Neha and others talked and Anindita was the silent unnoticed audience.

The woman (who traveled on board Balia Express with Anindita, the one Anindita did not like much) and her husband arrived and walked to the seat where Anindita sat. That was their usual seat. They sat down. Anindita saw the woman after a long time. More than a week. The husband was traveling alone all those days.

The man asked extra softly making it almost a whisper, “Now tell me where you were these days? Something wrong at home?”

Anindita heard it though she wasn’t meant to hear it. Anindita realized she was wrong all these days. He wasn’t the husband. He must be just a colleague.

The woman said, “They want me to quit working. I told you about this earlier. Did I not? How long do we have to wait?”

“It is getting tougher for you. Isn’t it? Let me check when I can get tickets. Anybody suspicious at home?”

Right that moment, Anindita was. She was a normal human being. Normal people are allowed to be suspicious about things going on around them. She adjusted her hearing system to filter every other sound except the two beside her.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

From Tears to Smile : A Guest Post authored by Neha Sharma

The Introduction:
Neha, One of my most wonderful friends! One person, I know I can turn up to whenever I feel like the whole world is crashing down and I have no where to go. One fine evening, she was upset. We had a little chat. And then as goodbyes were said, Neha promised me a post for my blog. Thank you Neha for the honour. About her: She is a wonderful poet, singer and above all a beautiful lady at heart. Click here to read her poems.

From tears to smile
A couple of days ago I met one of my friends online. She was quite tensed about the market. Her joining has been delayed and as a result she’s sitting idle at home with absolutely nothing to do. I guess sitting idle is a very bad situation. I’m also waiting for my joining but thankfully I know how to keep myself busy. This friend about whom we are talking here lacks in this art. So as a result she was badly frustrated and negative about life and other things, so much that she was weeping!

I wonder how people can make simple things sound much complicated. And then they might see a tree as a monster, or a beautiful rainy evening as a disaster. Now, this girl has been blessed with a lot of talents. And she loves all of them. She loves painting, writing poetry, singing, listening to songs, cooking, gardening, observing, and the list is long. But during all this free time what she has been doing? Weeping over her circumstances, over things that she cannot control. What she is not doing is utilizing this immense free time by doing all or any of the things she loves, all the things she always wanted to do but never had enough free time for. At some later stage in life when she’ll become busy as a bee, will she not regret this beautiful time that she wasted in weeping? Of course she will.

But she’s not realizing this at this moment.

It is natural I think. It’s not only her. People always desire and long for what they do not have. I know you have read it a thousand times but then I know this too that only a few of you have pondered upon this. Other’s have only read it for the sake of reading or heard it for the sake of hearing. We often spend our free time by thinking about what we do not have rather than utilizing it to cherish and enhance what we have. Later when we’ve lost our precious moments we again waste our present thinking about how we spoiled out our past moments. So when do we enjoy? I’m not saying that I’m a sage or something. I too have my ups and downs. But at least I know how to spend and utilize my free time. And this is what I wanted her to understand.

I talked to her trying to give her the facts. One good thing is that she believes in me and tries to follow what I say. She opened up her heart in front of me and I saw the sad world that she had created within herself. She was talking as if her life was like an empty cup and that she was of no use. Yet somewhere deep inside she knew that all that was fake and very far from reality. She read this blog of mine and started talking big of me, talking small of her simultaneously. I know that she must have liked my work but when sad, people do this often either to make themselves feel worse or to make themselves feel better (by gaining sympathy). I advised her to enhance her writing skills and painting skills ignoring what all she said about my greatness.

I asked her whether she’s applying for other part time jobs and she denied it. Again, it is common with people, doing nothing and waiting for miracles to ensue to solve all their problems. I persuaded her to go out and search for some job.

Finally after a productive tête-à-tête both of us said our goodbyes. I was happy to know that she was smiling. She acknowledged my ‘superb’ ideas and then did engage herself into something.

This rakshabandhan her artworks that festooned her brothers’ wrists, earned her a lot of appreciation (and even money). She’s quite happy about all that now. Although she’s still sitting at home but she’s searching for a job seriously. She has even penned down something for me (I asked her to do so on the day of our long chat) and I’ve added it here in this blog. (I assured her I’d do that…).

So now when you have read (and are still reading) all what she has penned, I guess you are now aware that she’s not suffering anymore. She’s happy and I’m happy for her.

Written by Neha Sharma (the sad girl) for Mou. (The super supporter)

Thanks Mou!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

From the diary of a daily passenger : Chapter 09

The man kept arguing. The only argument he had was that he was a railway employee and he worked hard for the passengers and the passengers must let him travel in comfort and actually, railway employees were allowed to get into sleeper class compartments and sit where ever they wanted to. Nobody was allowed to question them. One passenger demanded his I-card and he produced one. The I-card was handed to Anindita for checking if he was speaking the truth. Out of curiosity, she looked. His name was Giridhari Yadav. He was a "khalasi" or in better words a gatekeeper kind of staff. Anindita hadnt spoken after the passengers had taken over the argument. She was disgusted of the whole affair and of the whole day. Anindita handed it back to the man and produced her own I-card that had been provided to her as a trainee at the IT-department of CLW (Chittaranjan Locomotive Works). She handed it to Giridhari and said, "I work in the computer department of the same corporation you are in and I deal with the Accounts section. You can check. Do you know to read English?"
People went quieter. The man looked at Anindita and muttered something. Anindita looked at the man sternly and said, "It would take me two minutes to find out every minute detail about you. Not only that, I work on the payment cheques that you recieve every month as your salary. You want me to do that?"
The man stared at Anindita and Anindita continued, "Once I am done with all the things I mentioned, let me see how much interested you would be in serving your passengers?"

The man got up and without a single word walked out of the compartment. Aninidita smiled. Her first smile throughout the day. This was the best thing that happened to her since morning. She could surely find out every minute detail in a minute but she was in no position to alter anything regarding his salary cheque. After all, she was just a software developer. It was fun being somebody of such weight that people double your age are afraid of you. Other passengers stood there and a discussion followed for sometime. Slowly the croed dispersed from the door to their respective seats. One of them came up to Anindita and said, "Come and sit. There is space over here."
Anindita thanked and declined. She was loving the wind. The old man was back at his seat. Anindita asked him, "Where are you going?"
He replied, "Balia, beti."
"Dont you have a reservation? It is very far. You will have to sit the whole night?"
"I know, but tickets costs so much. I did not have enough money."
"Hmm. Who stays in Balia?"
"My folks. My relatives. From now on, I will live there itself."
"And in Kolkata?"
"Kolkata nahi, beti, I lived in Asansol. I used to be a Rickshaw-puller. And since the past few years, I gathered up plastics and sold them. It was enough for us. I do not have children. My wife died two months ago. What shall I live for in Bardhman, all alone?"

Anindita looked outside into the dark and thought, "Funny life."

Sunday, August 23, 2009

From the Diary of the Daily Passenger : Chapter 08

That day Anindita was a bit pissed off with lots of things. She wasn't her usual self. She was quieter than usual and wasn't in the mood to be her usual nicer self. So, she preferred to stay aloof and quiet. She did not feel like enjoying her Balia express company. And she knew she would land up in some trouble if she did not keep herself aloof.

As she boarded the train, she walked up to the end of the compartment and stood there by the door. At the ticket examiner's seat sat an old man with a little bundle tied up into a dirty white cloth. She looked at him once. He shivered now and then. It wasn't cold in April and so Anindita thought maybe it was old age. She looked out of the door. She always loved standing at the door. The wind whizzed past, hurting the eyes, forcing them to close. It was fun. She did not lean out but leaned back on the door. On the floor beside her, two men sat, a little less older than the man on the ticket examiner's seat, but nevertheless, old. She did not pay much attention. She continued to look outside and feel the wind on her face. It helped her soothe her uneasiness.

The train sped by on schedule. A middle-aged man arrived into the compartment. Most probably he had boarded at Chittaranjan into some other compartment and walked into this one. He saw the old man on the seat and said to him, "Babaji.. go and sit there." and he pointed at the floor beside the other men. The old man looked at him in meek silence and the man ordered again, "Kya hua Baba? Get up and sit there."
The old man clasped his bundle with his wrinkled hands and staggered to the floor beside the others. Anindita hated the middle-aged man. She glared at him for a moment but he didnt look at her. So, she looked away in disgust. After all what could she do alone? She was a girl and she had always been advised by friends and family to keep shut however tempting it might it was to speak back against wrongs. So, she stared out of the door, with a grumpy face, irritated of all shitty and crude things about life. She stood there thinking of what all things she would have said to that man if at all she did say anything to him. Then she thought, there was no harm in saying a sentence or two. She would not fight. She would just tell him that what he did was wrong and he shouldn't have made that old staggering man to get up off the seat. Then she changed her mind. It would be of no use. He wouldn't listen. So she gave up the idea.

Few more minutes passed. The train moved cutting through the air. Anindita stared outside. It was getting darker. The sky was graying though there still was light, but the earth bore only dark silhouettes. Anindita turned to the middle aged man and said, "Didn't you feel bad making that old man sit there on the floor?"
The man was a bit surprised. He stammered for a moment, unable to say anything. He looked at Anindita and then at the old man and then back at Anindita. Finally he said, "This seat is for Railway employees. It is not for that old man."
Anindita said, "It is for the TTE. It is not for you either. In that case I can ask you to get up and allow me to sit. Should I do that?"
"I am a rail employee. I am entitled to travel a bit more comfortably. I work at Chittaranjan Locomotive works. I work for all the passengers and they should be a little more considerate about letting me travel in some comfort."
Anindita wondered what was she doing. She was actually creating a scene. She had a sudden urge to stop and walk away. But she was into it and she couldn't just leave. She replied back. "You don't work for the people. You work because you are paid. And forget about all that. This man is so old he cannot even stand properly. It never occurred to you that you should have even a little bit of moral sense in you. Three older men and a lady is standing in front of you and look at you, you are sitting there and arguing !"

Anindita knew she was getting irritated. But she knew how to keep her calm. She looked calm and firm but on the inside she felt like slapping the man hard. She already had a bad day all through and now this. A few men, who had been close by, gathered and took her side. They argued with the man and tried convincing him to at least share the seat with the old man if not leave it for him. He wouldn't listen.

Fully Untagged !

Tagged by Dhiman ! It is called "the mind game". The rule is Answer all these questions starting with the first letter of your name. You cannot use one word twice and cannot use your name for the boy/girl names. And tag people.

And here goes the tag....

1. What is your name:

2. A four Letter Word: meal

3. A boy’s Name:Mahul (thts my brother's name.. i guess thts allowed !)

4. A girl’s Name: Madhuri

5. An occupation: Mazdoor :P

6. A color: magenta

7. Something you wear: Mozari (its a type of shoe... but you wear it )

8. A food: Momo, malai curry (prawns), mughlai, madhu (honey), mowa (a laddoo kind of thing... bengalis wud know), manchurian,.... yaar.. i can go on and on :D

9. Something found in the bathroom: Mirror

10. A place: Manikaran (in Himachal Pradesh, a city with hot water springs)

11. A reason for being late: missed the bus/train

12. Something you shout: MY GOD !!!!

13. A movie title: Mann (Aamir Khan and Manisha Koirala)

14. Something you drink: Mirinda

15. A musical group: metallica (i dont like it much though)

16. An animal: Mouse

17. A Street name: Mahatma Gandhi Road

18. A type of car: Matiz

19. A song title: Mere Dholna sun (from the movie Bhool Bhulaiya)

20. A verb: make

Finally, I am fully untagged. No more pending tags. Now tagging is a very difficult part. Most of the people have already been tagged. Those who arent, I do not wish to tag them explicitly! Take it up anybody who wants to.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

A bit of Explanation

Recently I posted "A Perfect Love Story", then let it stay on the blog for a few hours and then deleted it, saying that it was a little personal.
People are getting me wrong. I am down with questions from many. I guess the title did the trick. Trust me it wasn't about my love story. I have no *such* complains about my love story !

I had watched three wonderfully unrealistic, dramatic love stories viz,
Love aaj Kal
27 Dresses
When Harry met Sally

The third one was not that dramatic, and maybe that's what created the now deleted post.
It was just about this dramatic feature of movies and the hour (3 am in the morning) that brought out thoughts that are good when kept to myself. It was all about why could we not do those dramatic things in reality !

Please stop analyzing those who are !

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Untagging !

First of all... Happy Independence Day !
Have been off the blogging world for the last few days.. been out of station... Am back again, got a huge backlog of posts to be read...

I start with the untagging process. Tagged by Shilpa
1. The jhatpat Tag
2. My life in Numbers

Lets start with the first one :

The tag is called Jhatpat tag... Lets see...

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn on page 18 and find line 4.
This ensures consistency and saves storage space. However, in practice, it is sometimes......

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can & catch air?
The saree I wore today morning.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Bhaskar Bharti, I guess (2 months ago)

4. Without looking, guess what time it is?
5:45 pm

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
6.04 pm

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The fan

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
This morning. To school, for the independence celebrations.

8. Before you started this Q&As, what did you look at?
The computer screen, A movie !

9. What are you wearing?
A white embroidered skirt and a white T-shirt.

10. When did you last laugh?
Yaar, this is tough. I laugh almost always... And its hard remembering the last one.

11. What is on the walls of the room you are in?
Wall clock, a painting, A calendar, A khathakali face, etc.

12. Seen anything weird lately?
A madman with me in my train compartment. It was very scary. I changed my berth.

13. What do you think of this quiz?
Crazy !

14. What is the last film you saw?
Nayika Sambad. (bengali)

15. If you became a multimillionaire overnight, what would you buy?
Books books n books. I will build a huge library.

16. Tell me something about you that I dunno!
Dont you know?? That would mean, you are not supposed to know !

17. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Change it back to where it was before the Global Warming started.

18. Do you like to Dance?
I can't.

19. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
Aratrika (liable to change)

20. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
Prantor (liable to change)

21. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Would always come back.

22. What do you want GOD to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?
You will be sent back to earth soon ! :P

The Next one : My LIfe in Numbers

Its about describing your life in numbers from 1 to 10.

One : The month I was born ! January ! One !
Two: The two most wonderful people I have known... Dad and Mom !
Three: There lived three lizards in my hostel room .. I named them ... Tikloo, Pikloo and Spiderman !
Four: I lived in four different hostels till date.
Five: My favorite time of the day during these days... five in the morning !
Six: The lowest marks I ever scored out of 100. (I was in class three then.)
Seven: I was in class seven when I had my first crush. *blush*
Eight: I was eight years old when I first fell in love with damselflies.
We are altogether nine cousins at home (back at Kolkata... @ my dad's home)
Ten: I have ten DVDs full of animation movies !

Time to tag others... I am not specifically mentioning anybody explicitly.. Implicitly - Anybody who wishes to can take it up.

Monday, August 10, 2009

From the Diary of Daily Passenger : Chapter 07

The children played. Anindita watched. The train stopped at Madhupur, midway her journey. A man got into the compartment, handed the lady a two packets of Kurkure and a frooti. They had a little chat about some phone calls. Anindita looked about. A lot of people got down at Madhupur and a few people boarded. Some of them were men. A young boy was also there. He had saffron clothes on. He looked dirty, had a bag on his shoulders. He would not be more than 15 years of age. He was kind of a "teenage babaji". He sat adjacent to where Anindita was sitting. The people sitting beside her at the window had descended. The seat stared at her empty. She thought of moving to the window, but the sun shone hard. She stayed back where she was. The children were busy with Kurkure and frooti. The men sat around the "teenage babaji" and they were busy talking about something. Anindita did not pay much attention to them in the begenning. Sitting quietly for long, brought their words to her. The whole conversation was in Hindi.
One of the men said, "You smoke Gaanja at such a young age. It will harm you."
Teenage Baba replied, "Arey Beta, Gaanja smoking is not a big deal for people who have achieved things in life. I take very Satwik food and my body and mind is pure. Gaanja never harms a pure body and pure soul"
One man : "Babaji what is your age?"
Teenage Baba, "I am old enough. I look young due to my yoga. When you do yoga everyday, you never get old. My guru is 500 years old and he looks younger than me."

The men burst laughing. Anindita couldnt control her smile. One of the men controlled laughter and asked, "Who is you Guru? He is 500 years old then he should be very famous."
Teenage Baba: "Nobody knows him. He lives in the mountains near Nepal. I am coming from there."
One man: "And he smokes Gaanja too?"
Teenage Baba: "Yes he smokes 10 kilo Gaanja everyday."

Anindita couldnt help this time. She laughed out. The men were laughing like anything. Teenage Baba seemed to get angry. He said, "What do you know? You will laugh. All ignorant men laugh."
One Man: "Okay babaji we are sorry. Actually imagining a person who takes up 10 kilo gaanja in a day is kind of funny? A person would die in a single day."
Teenage Baba: "No, when you are pure and clean and strong, 10 kilo gaanja is nothing."
One Man: "One kilo Gaanja a day would also cost him a fortune. They have so much money in the himalayas?"
Teenage Baba: "My guruji doesnt have money. He has sponsors. There is a very rich man. He sends my Guru 10 kilo ganja everyday !"
One Man: "The rich man has to be very rich. Boy, do you know what you are talking? You are making fun of yourself."
Teenage Baba: "You are meager souls. You will never understand, that what I am telling you is true. The man is really very rich. You see, so many trains. These trains are all that rich man's. He buys all these trains and rents them out to the poorer people. All these trains are his. Do you understand how rich he is?"
The compartment thundered with laughter. Anindita couldnt help herself either. She giggled out loud. The woman in front of her, was listening too. In fact everybody who sat near laughed and the people farther away stared in awe at such a laughing commotion.

Teenage Baba seemed a bit embarrassed. He said, "Every meager soul laughs. But one day you will remember that you traveled with Baba Sarvananda."
One of the men asked, "Who is Baba Sarvananda?"
The train was nearing Jasidih. Teenage Baba looked at the man with eyes that were ready to curse. He got up, put his bag on his shoulders. He turned his back to us and as he walked towards the door, he uttered with an air of indifference, "That is me".
And without waiting for an answer, he went to stand at the gate.
Laughter filled the compartment once again.
One of the men said, "He is coming from the Himalayas, my foot! I see him every morning at Jasidih station. He begs on trains. He lives there on platform number 4."
A light discussion arose.

As the train slowed down, Anindita smiled to herself and got up. Jai Baba Sarvananda!

Sunday, August 9, 2009

From the Diary of A Daily Passenger : Chapter 06

Anindita loved Saturdays. On Saturdays office was over by 12.30 p.m. It took her twenty minutes to cycle to the station. If she cycled fast, she managed it in 15 minutes. She boarded the train at 2 o'clock if the train be at right time. And by 4.30 p.m. she was home, on her bed lying down, resting her tired body, waiting for her mother to serve food.

She arrived at the station at 12.55 p.m., went to her usual bench and sat there under the fan. She waited until the air cooled her down a bit. Then she took out her bottle of cold water, thanking the office A.C. that cooled the warm water within half an hour. Her office did not have a water cooler. She cursed summers as she felt the cold water go down her trachea into her stomach. The sun was hot enough to exhaust her from that 20-minute drive to the railway station. She waited until she had cooled down enough to eat. Then out came her tiffin box, and she would eat, chew slowly so that it lasted till her train arrived. This was the usual stuff. Every Saturday she would do this. And when she was done eating, she would pack up her bag and sit there watching around for people.
She sometimes looked at the group of hawkers sitting with their saleables talking to each other, laughing and discussing things that to our ears would not be very pleasing or standard. Nevertheless Anindita listened. Now and then a group of young boys, most probably in their teens, passed by her staring at her and smiling at each other. She didn't mind, as long as they kept the talking and smiling to themselves. A beggar slept under the over bridge stairs, flies whining around him. Anindita thought he must have got used to sleep with them fluttering around him. The lady she disliked never traveled with her on Saturdays. Anindita guessed, she must be in her office then and Balia express would most probably be taking her home even on Saturdays. No, she wasn't missing her, she was just wondering, because she had nothing else to do but think.

The train was on time. She got into the ladies compartment. The ladies compartment on Toofan express was good. Seats were mostly available at her own discretion. She found herself a seat and sat down. There were all ladies around and some kids. Around the doors a few men lurked about. Most probably they had their female family members in the compartment.In front of her there was a lady with three children. The woman was beautiful but a bit fat. Women usually gain weight after marriage. She wondered why! And then imagined herself with a big tummy and children playing around her. It made her want to laugh. She suppressed that and managed with a smile to herself. Two of the children played, and the eldest one slept. The older two were girls and the youngest one was a boy. The oldest and the youngest looked like their their mom. They were fair and lovely like their mom was. The second child was not so beautiful, maybe she was like her father. Anindita loved watching them play. They moved about, laughing and playing. The girl loved her brother. She would amuse him and the boy giggled out loud. He would stand up on the seat and and stomp his feet and jerk his hands and laugh out with all his energy. The girl stood on the floor and giggled with him. Sometimes he would hold her head with his tiny hands, pull her closer, bend a little and kiss on her head. Sometimes he would hold her hair with both his hands and pull them hard, to bring her closer. The girl laughed as tears brimmed her eyes. She would then move closer to him and hug him with her small hands in return. Anindita smiled all along with them.The mother would then scold the boy and free the girl's hair from his hands.

The mother was watching Anindita as she watched the children play. Suddenly she said, "This is my brother-in-law's daughter. I have only two children, the girl who is sleeping and the boy."
Anindita replied, "Really? I thought they were all yours."
"No, Actually, her mother was very ill when she was born, so she used to be with me a lot. Since then its always like this. We are going to my brother's marriage. She wouldnt let me leave without her. So, I brought her with me." And she looked at the girl, brought her closer and hugged her. "She is my child. Arent you dear? I am your mother. Am I not sweetheart?"
The girl smiled and nodded.
Anindita thought what was it like. Was it like snatching away a kid from her mother, or was it like loving somebody just because you have given your love to her the first day she knew this world. She seemed possessive about the girl.

Friday, August 7, 2009

An Ode to Friendship

The walk on the railway tracks,
By the river as our laughter cracks,
As the sun dips into the waters
During the dusky hours.
Dark waters flow by.
Under the moon we lie.
A word or two, but often silence talks...
Barefoot on little pieces of rocks.
As the evening clouds turn red...
A lone bird flies with a crumb of bread...
Two pairs of eyes smile.
Two hands held... for miles !

Those miles end...
What remains is the afterglow
Of the walk... that prevailed

Some leisure hours by the bustle of the day,
Some evenings, Some moonlit skies,
A smile with a thought,
In one corner lies.

This poem was written for the purpose of a testimonial on orkut for a friend... We were the best of friends, till she got committed. We are still in touch and we are still great friends, and I know we always will be.

Some light poems do show up on the blog .. dont they?

Monday, August 3, 2009

Un-Welcoming change

She never thought that at one point of time in her life, she would sit up one night and wonder what was going wrong? Or maybe was it going right? All she could do was wonder. She had always been stubborn with her thoughts. She had made her own rules about life, applied her own logic to them. She had lived with people and adjusted well, loved and was equally loved, but her thoughts were born out of her own heart. She may not have spoken them out loud, but they existed firmly within her, explaining and growing all through.
And all of a sudden, she felt as if she was made to stand at the top of a hill and look below... at the city that lay in the valley. The same city where she had lived and never known, because she was in there, amidst the crowd. And now as she stood at the top of the hill, she saw the same things at a distant and from a different perspective. She was surprised and confused, because the things that were bigger and clearer once, were at the moment far away, unclear, yet she had her view stretched far and things had started to relate. And standing there, she wondered what made her climb up the hill. Yes, that was what she worried about the most - the reason for that uphill climb.
And as she climbed higher, she realized the change within herself. The change was simple and ordinary. Like finding the same music noisy that was once a tribute to ears. Like moving from the bustle of a city to the silence of the skies. Like falling in love with a flute instead of the guitar. Like sitting by the uphill road and watch a damselfly fly by instead of holding hands with the man she loved.
She knew he loved her, and she loved him back. Maybe she needed some time. Time enough to have seen the valley, time enough to walk down the hill, time enough to gather up her scattered thoughts and arrange them, time enough to un-welcome the change.