Down memory lane.

Down memory lane.

             Visiting the place you grew up in gives a different kind of high.  I spent the afternoon at mum’s, today, chatting with my parents and younger brother to my heart’s content. And, going to the market place with my mother, seeing all the changes that have taken place  over the years, sent me on a run down memory lane.

            I do visit the place often. But,  it is at times, like today, that I really observe the place and think of my childhood spent there. I could actually see myself, running down the street. trying my hand at the bicycle, bumping into people and falling off with nervousness.  I saw that little girl with pig tails, playing hide-n-seek in unoccupied houses, which now look desolate, but at that time, looked safe and cosy.  How carefree were we back then!

           The nearby park — an old favourite —  has undergone such a major change, it looks alien!  But, only as long as I don’t imagine myself on one of the slides or the swings, enjoying myself immensely, totally oblivious to mother calling out to me to get ready for school. And, the market place, where I would go along with mother, hanging on to her arm, getting attracted by the chocolates tempting me from their shiny glass jars.  It brings back those days of  simple needs and an uncluttered life.

          There are quite a many ‘old favourites’ where I grew up.  And, all these places exude a warmth, trigger a sense of longing, that makes me yearn for the period of my life which was the happiest of all. The memories these places bring back are of laughter, innocence and the absence of complexities that was my childhood. And, this very thing is what gives me that ‘high’.  How I wish man really came up with a ‘time-machine’ that would have the ability to transport us to a place  of our choice. I know for sure what I would ask for!

           

NaBloPoMo November 2014

My hero…

My hero…

                 It has been quite some time since I have been thinking about this. Isn’t it amazing, how age changes a person? I keep ruminating on this phenomenon every time I visit my parents. Every time I meet my father.

              My father was  the strictest father I must have seen in my childhood. To say that I was scared of him, would be an understatement! I was petrified of him!  He was not the kind of fathers I see these days — the kind who play with their kids, mount their kids on their shoulders and take them around town, or joke with their kids, play rough and tumble, or tell stories to. He was the kind who liked to see his  kids well behaved at all times, and for that would not think twice before raising his hand. Now, I don’t mean to demean him in any way. It is just how he was, back then, as I saw him through my innocent and scared eyes.
 
          I remember, he would help me with mathematics — a dreaded subject for the faint-hearted me! We had a black board mounted on a  wall in my room, on which he would give me equations to be solved in a given span of time. I would somehow manage to finish the work and  would then call out to him in a feeble voice to come and take a look at it.  He would come over, keep staring at the black board, and all the while my heart would keep thumping in my chest, waiting for the verdict. If the sum was incorrect, he would say in the coldest tone ever, “Absolutely wrong!” That was enough for me to pray for divine intervention! And if, by the grace of the Almighty, I got the sum correct, then just a “Hmm” would follow a thin smile and then the next sum would be given to be solved. How I dreaded my school days!

       But, as  I became a big girl, joined college,  the stern dictator changed colours! He, now, was my ‘friend’. One who indulged my every whim and fancy, much to the chagrin of my mother, who now had taken up the baton of  strictness. After all, I was a young girl, who would go sailing on the clouds if not held firmly down to the ground!

     As the years passed and I grew up, got married, father changed completely. I saw a 360 degree turn in his demeanour! Now, a senior citizen in his 70s, he seems to have become a lot gentler. And, also very  sentimental. Whenever I regale him with the tales of Chikoo, his eyes moisten and all I can do is hug him tight and  reprimand him for being such a sissy! Yeah, I know, he is not being a sissy — he can never be one. He is just being emotional, being at the age that he is.

       There are times  when I have to admonish him for being careless. At 75 plus, he is not supposed to be zooming around on his two-wheeler, now, is he? He is supposed to be taking care of his health, watch his blood pressure and keep fit — physically and mentally — isn’t he?

      There also are  times, when I need to be the strict one, whenever he gets all sorts of negative thoughts in his mind — which is no longer as busy as it used to be many years ago. And, there are days, when I need to remind him that he is not a 17 year old young man, but an old man who needs to be careful. So what if he hasn’t greyed as much, or  needs no walking stick!

          Now, as I sit here, writing about him, my heart goes out to that gentleman, who scared the life out of me when I was a little girl. But, however he may have been back then, he was my hero. He IS my hero. A fearless man, who cared a damn about the communal riots and the bomb explosions that took place near his place of work; who faced a lathi charge with his head held high (when he knew he was doing right); who single-handedly managed an entire printing press and the workers and their union, and who, in spite of getting knocked off  his vehicle, gave a good piece of his mind to the wrong- doer, and, who cried like a baby on the day of my wedding.

         These are just some of the incidents that I can recollect at this very moment; my mind is all hazy and my eyes are all moist, as I type out this post about dad, for dad.

        My dear loving dad.

    P.S.
   Dad,  now I know what you are going to do. You will cry a bucketful after you read this post and then give me a good scolding after you read this last line below!

      Thank you, dad. Thank you for everything! 

NaBloPoMo November 2014

Innocent minds.

Innocent minds.

            “Anu, mummy is going to buy a new bicycle for Bittoo.” Akhil murmured to his elder sister as they lay in their bed, trying to sleep in the stifling heat.

            “Sshh! Akhil, we have been through this before, haven’t we, now? He is her son, he is entitled to it, to her love, her attention.” Anu rebuked her brother, knowing fully well her words would have no effect on his innocent   mind.

             Everything that Bittoo had — a mother, her love for him, the  indulgence — brought about a wave of envy in Akhil’s young mind; a fact that his sister could do nothing about, except encourage him to grow up and accept the harsh realities of life without a mother of their own.



Lillie McFerrin Writes] Five Sentence Fiction – Envy
http://lilliemcferrin.com/five-sentence-fiction-envy/
God’s special child.

God’s special child.

                    The little girl lay listlessly in the hospital bed in the children’s ward.  She looked like a porcelain doll, but with skin so pale, one could see the blood running through her veins. The twinkle in her eyes had long since dimmed,  and so had the smile that played on her lips from dawn to dusk. She lay like a corpse, but with a feeble heart still fluttering within her chest, waiting for the rhythm to die out.
              Her parents had run from pillar to post, finding a doctor who could cure their baby, but in vain.
     
        “It is just a viral fever. She will be fine in a matter of some time.” they tried to explain to the parents. But, they had never seen a child suffering from just a viral fever in such a  pathetic condition.

         
          She just wouldn’t let them leave her side. They sat by either side of her bed — her mother and her father —  holding her hands, cooing softly,  trying their best to bring a smile on her face, motivate her to feel better. But, they knew it was not of much use now.They knew in their hearts that it was just a matter of time. Their little butterfly was flying further away from them with every second and all they could do was watch as mute spectators.
       Every breath seemed to take her away from her world, from her family, from her friends, whose darling she had been all her life. A girl so cheerful, so loving and caring! God, too, seemed to have fallen for this beautiful creation of his. He seemed to be in a hurry to take her away, at such a tender age!
      Her family and friends thronged the hospital corridor, looking at her through the glass wall, eagerly awaiting for some ray of hope,  for some breakthrough.  Their prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears, for,  one night, as the clock struck 12, she breathed her last. The little soul  flew away, leaving behind her grieving family, with a void so huge, it  would never be filled.

         It must be more than 20 years. But, I still remember that face with those eyes, dancing with joy, smiling at us every time we visited her. My little cousin sister, all of seven or eight years. The happiest soul I have ever seen. Had she been around, she would have been a grown woman by now, giving love to every soul she touched, cheering the world with her contagious laughter.
       It is surprising, how we seem to forget people  we may have dealt with on a day to day basis, but are in touch with no more. It is surprising, how we remember others, who have left us long ago, gone away, never to return. They  reside in our hearts, in our minds, forever!  They must be the truly special people God creates every once in a while.

       You were a truly special person, little sis. A gem of a person. And, you will never be forgotten. Ever.
   

               

NaBloPoMo November 2014

God bless the writer.

God bless the writer.

                Since the past few days, thinking about topics to write for  NaBloPoMo  has been keeping my mind busy and on the run –running from topic to topic, choosing one and dropping another! Posting something new everyday on my blog is one tough job, is what I have realised. There are days when life  goes on smoothly and everyone around is peaceful and happy. Those are the days  when the mood is buoyant and coming up with topics and writing down a good post comes easily. But, it is the days when things go awry and nothing goes as planned —  those are the days when the mind goes blank. The mood to write flies out of the window and the mere thought of coming up with a new post starts to seem like a Herculean task.

            How tough is a writer’s job! I realise it now, when I, myself , have chosen to follow the path to the reader’s heart.  The day  began on a good note. But, as the hours passed by,  things began to feel a bit shaky and my heartbeat began to change its rhythm. And the evening turned out to be not so pleasant. I began to get thoughts of dropping the idea of writing at all — for the day, I mean. But,  I managed to give myself a good earful. I am participating in NaBloPoMo to get myself in the habit of writing — daily. Come what may. So, developing cold feet at the prospect of writing on a bad day was totally out of the question! So, with some help from the kind man sitting up there in the celestial city, here I am

             An avid reader will understand how it feels to just get lost in a book and forget the world and its complications. The writer is always there to bring us back from the brink of the cliff we are ready to jump off! Here, I don’t mean an actual cliff, but the end of our patience, when the going gets tough. There are moments when our minds forsake us and we are left to deal with the problems alone. There are moments when we really don’t want to deal with the problems at all. All we wish to do is hide behind a book, get immersed in a story that will take us far away from our claustrophobic world and offer us momentary respite, some breathing space. How lucky we are as readers that there are those amazing writers out there creating magnificent worlds of fantasy just so we can forget our troubles and attain peace and happiness.

       This  post is a salute to writers of the world who help wipe away our tears, put a smile on our sad faces, give us hope and strength and  transport us to a world far away from ours, to get precious moments of pleasure, in spite of the tumults of their own lives. Leaving aside my problems and finding some moments of bliss here, in writing, seems to be helping tremendously.  Hope this trend continues!

NaBloPoMo November 2014