Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Counting 24

1...2...3...4....6...7 and I got a bang on my head..I looked up. "Ei!! 4 er por 6 ? " (hey!! how come 6 after 4 ? ) said mom. I was surprised at the sudden strike on my head and so it took me some time to understand what had happened.. Gosh! I had missed 5 !. I could see the same 5 in my mother's widened red eyes. I nodded " na 4...5...6...7..8 "...I went on. This was when I was 4, struggling to learn how to count.

Today am 24...twenty years on and I still miss my count. I argued early in the morning with mom that I had reached 25. And again the bang! " Ei!! 23 er por 25 ? "( hey!! how come 25 after 23 ? )...true! I was 23 last year. Perhaps in my hurry to reach a some jubilee, I missed it out yet again..

But I enjoyed the bang this time. :)

Hey 25!! one more year to go....

Saturday, July 2, 2011


Happiness isn't only smile..its something that should come from inside, reflect in your eyes. For days I am trying to find my sparkle. But its now that I smile,with my eyes. People say they are pretty and yes they are,when I smile.

The day started sad as I got the news that my brother isn't coming for my birthday and so is my best friend. And so yet another lonely birthday. But The perfect poet award brings my smile back and am really happy. And happy I am.



Friday, June 24, 2011


If Gods were in a mood to play Holi, I would have asked them to colour all of us in bright colours. Instead of being born Black or White ; more accurately fair or wheatish ( derivatives of White ) and dusky or dark (derivatives of black) we could be pink, red, blue, green, yellow, violet and many more shades and even many more combination of shades. God could have used the HP Laserjet colour printers to print his subjects in different bright colours and link the visible skin colour to the inner colour of a person. As such painting a courageous girl in red and a sober and shy girl with blue.


A mere imagination of the project is hilarious. People in all different bright shades roaming here and there, like a packet of Cadbury Gems being scattered on the floor. Something like every different coloured candy of Poppins. What if all of us turned into colourful pandas like those featured in the Cadbury Gems ad ?

This dream project (If ever implemented by gods. If ever god could read my ideas) could have changed the scenario altogether. The view of this mundane world could have been brighter. If this was the situation, then the world would not be divided into Blacks and Whites. The Whites being more powerful would not have exploited the Blacks. The age old racial discrimination could have been avoided. The history would have a different shade.

Another discrimination mostly done by the Indian society of calling fair as beautiful and the darker as the lesser one could have no meaning. They could only know the inner colour of a person for this would be the factor for one’s skin colour. This wide range of colours would have discouraged people from thinking it this way. Though societies would bring out different ways to do so.

If a hilarious dream like this could bring positive changes to this world. Then why not?? I would like see the world as a collage of bright colours.

This post is an entry to the “Take Flight With Colour” contest conducted by Indiblogger

Saturday, June 18, 2011

I couldn't move...

It was a rainy day. And as I walked from the muddy lane to the rain-wet pitched street,you came along.I had waited for you for six long days. 

You asked me a ride and  I agreed invariably. And through the lane,through streets and then on the highway,among the shower we rode along. A long way we had and it was only spring.Dreaming of the seasons,the months,the years we rode along.

I was scared. Scared of the speed,the speed breakers and the sudden brakes. But you made me hold you tight. Assured that we would never fall. " we will be going smooth dear"you said.. I knew you drive well.

But when with some random children coming our way,and you pressed the brakes really hard, we fell down,without helmets.You were still holding my hand.With bleeding heads,knees,we lay on the crowded street. I couldn't move.I saw you getting up,in pain.but I couldn't move. You pulled me, asked me to stand up. I could hear you, but couldn't move. You were in tears,pulled me again.I lay still,couldn't move. 
You pressed my hand once , left it, let it walked away....
I screamed in vain, no voice came walked away..I couldn't move .

Tuesday, May 24, 2011


Her wrinkled skin,
Eyes sparkling more than her cross.
And her lips, more red with age
Hair covered with her Saree, bordered blue;
She smiles, she ever smiles.

Oh she's beautiful!
When she lifts a child, hungry
For food, for love.

Oh she's beautiful!
When she touches him,
The leprosy ridden one.

Oh she's beautiful!
When through slums, she walks
her back bent.

Oh Mother!, she is
And her immortal
Beauty Divine.


This post is my entry to the "Yahoo Dove Real Beauty Contest" -"what real beauty means to you" by Indiblogger. ..learn more about real beauty from "Dove Real beauty".

Dear readers, if you like my post then please promote it on "Indiblogger" and like it on Facebook.

Also shared with "Thursday Poets Rally week 47

I humbly accept The Perfect Poet Award Week #47 and I would like to nominate Kagomesakura

Hearty Thanks to all who nominated me :)


Wednesday, May 4, 2011


When all lights disappear,
And still to see, you hope.
The before-rain winds
Give you thorns;
The humidity rising,
And the water cycle struggling to complete.

Oh! Its rain rain rain!
Oh! Its flood flood flood!!

And over there,
Me see the dark clouds parting.

Oh! It’s a ray ray ray!
Oh! Its light light light!!

Onto my stage has landed
The deus-ex-machina .

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Morning Glory...

And with wonder I looked at the plant; the crippled climber which had climbed the fence next to the rows of earthen flower tubs. Tubs with flowering plants of different Indian and foreign species. Some bore red, some blue, some sunset yellow flowers and some, the mixture of all beautiful shades. There were roses, chrysanthemums, dahlias and some difficultly pronounced seasonal flowers. But the dark red rose plant was my favorite.

I had brought it when it was just a sapling and for which the nursery man had charged me a lot. He had promised that it would bear roses…dark red ones…and with dark red dreams I had prepared the soil bed. Mixing pungent sun dried cow dung with soil and other fertilizers I made it a home. Forgetting my need for water I watered it thrice a day, protected it from storm and hail....from insects...from enemies….

Beside it grew the valueless climber. Which I never bothered to give a home…."what would it bear???? Some small dull blue flowers? which doesn’t  even have a proper smell". I never had much water and compost for it and it was the leftovers which was given..even I never bothered to look if it had died..

My dark red rose plant grew large and strong…but never bore a rose…. And with waiting eyes when I look up, I find the crippling glory…all the way to the top of the fence..with sparkling blue flowers, had climbed my MORNING GLORY...