A Piece of ....errr..........Peace of .......

A piece of cloth
Was lying on the road

A pack of cute little puppies
A bit curious
& a bit playful
Chanced upon it

They knew it was not food….
Smelling food is in their genes !

Nor were they hungry
Have sucked enough milk from their mother !

They just played around it
Flipped it,
Scratched it,
Sheared it,
Ripped it into pieces
With their young sharp teeth & sharp nails
They squealed merrily
As the cloth was reduced to a rag

But what of the piece of cloth?

…… pity it……..?!

Whose fault was it anyway?
Of the puppies…..?
that were playing around
Of the clip…….?
that couldn’t hold the cloth on to the clothesline
Of the autumn winds….?
that blew the cloth off

certainly.....none

but what of the piece of cloth?

hm………. pity it


Dreams, desires and duties
Wishes, wants and wisdom
Rights & responsibilities

………have teeth sharper than canines


What of the piece of mind?

& no one to pity it !

instead
………..blame it
………………..tame it

& if nothing works…..

Slice it,
Silence it.

Happy Father's Day

15th June 2008

It is that time of the year again. The whole world is celebrating father’s day. Every magazine, every paper carries articles on ‘dear dads’. Photos showing the new age fathers (the metro sexual men as they call themselves) hugging their kids are strewn on the paper.

Being from a conservative family where fathers are required to be strict disciplinarians, my father never showed off his love for his daughters. But his personality has embraced my soul. I can feel the warmth of it through various incidents in my life.

An adamant teen girl that I was, I demanded a brand new saree for college ethnic day celebrations. Mother’s sarees won’t do as they were all old fashioned. My father brought me a new one-a dark green silk saree with peacock embroidery. I never knew how difficult it was for my father to arrange money for it, being the only earning member in the family feeding six mouths & giving the best possible education to four dear daughters.

When I got a prize in a school essay contest, my father congratulated me & said “You have prepared for it, all by yourself! That shows your hard work. I am no good in such things to help you out”. But it was not necessary for my father to sit besides me helping with my essays. He has given us everything in the form of books. From Ruskin Bond to Arundathi Roy, Wren & Martin to Prof. L.S. Sheshariri Rao, DVG to Abdul Kalam, I have always got every book I have asked for & also what I haven’t asked.

Speaking of books I am reminded of a few of my classmates. All of them from affluent families. They would wear swanky clothes & come in snazzy bikes to college. But they never bought text books. They would stand in queue to borrow books from library or get important topics xeroxed ie..photocopied. But I bought all my text books. Brand new ones & father asked me never to buy an old edition or second hand books & never ever borrow books.....

OH.!! I can go on & on & on speaking of so many incidents but lest me stop here...will continue someother time.

The Key

The doors were locked
Since a long time
The doors ………….of her mind


No one saw what lay beyond…….
……behind the closed doors
In the realm of darkness
In the vast lands of her mind…

The doors were locked
& the key was lost
……..lost in the abyss of seclusion

Silver fishes were swimming merrily in the pages of her mind
Spiders weaved webs of thoughts in the four rooms of her heart
Dust gathered on the wall was thick enough…
……..thick enough to block anything,
Anything soft & gentle from entering in
…….the warm rays of sunlight
…….the pearly drops of dew
……& the whips of fresh air

Her friends tried breaking in
To set her mind free,
to let her enjoy the little joys of life
…….they couldn’t
Her foes tried breaking in too
To set her mind free,
To let her get distracted from her path
…….they couldn’t


It was a breezy Friday morning of August
She was lost amidst her files & drawings

The wind tried blowing her hairs a bit
She tightened her hair pin
That locked her jet black locks tight
Lest it doesn’t disturbs her work


He was looking at her…….
………leaning against the window

She guessed what he might say

“You look beautiful……….. if you let your locks free”

A dialogue she was tired of

She has heard that a hundred times before

From hundreds of people around her
She has heard that………

………From the boys playing marbles
When she used to jump across the hopscotch
………From the boys in the back benches in school
When she was busy jotting down notes
……….From across the test tubes in the college lab
When she was busy preparing solutions

She knew the tricks of trade

& so……she delved deeper into her files

But he didn’t say that…….. !

“you may get headache
If you tie your wet hairs………
………used to tell my mother
To my little sister……..
My pretty little sister…….
……… used to hide behind me
as my mother dried her wet hairs with a soft towel……..”

So saying ……..he was lost in thoughts
……..lost in memories
……..lost in the cosy corners of his home….. far away

Her hands seemed to have their own whim
They just removed the hairpin from her locks

.
.
.

Now she just wonders……..
Sitting besides him ……….
……….in the garden at dusk
…….as the wind blows her silky hairs
…….a soft little curl tickles her ears
She smiles & wonders……….
How did he open the lock..!?
The lock of her mind
A lock so intricately designed
Lock which none could open...Over the years……
……………with a humble hairpin ………
That too was hers!!!!