Colours of my life

“Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways. ” 

― Oscar Wilde

What is life if not a spectrum of colours... Colours that define it, colours that fill it and colours that make it "picture perfect"

 For different people colour means different things... For the little ones all around us colours are their first lesson of association and identification, on which they are tested by all Uncles, Aunties and Didis round the clock.- "Tuktuk, want this icecream... but first tell what color it is?" or "Laddo, go get Uncle the Red box"

To a teenager, on the cusp of falling in love..."Roses are Red, Violets are Blue"

For the old lady you meet in the park every morning, doing "anulom vilom" , white is her colour..the colour of divinity.

For me the colours define the people in my life, people who fill my life with their presence, their vibrancy, their variety, their characteristics and their expressions. Rather I should say, those colours define me.

It has always been a challenge for me to give introductions... whether on the first day of college, or in a "informal" intro to the seniors, or in the ice breaking  of those boring training sessions, or in interviews... each time I was asked to define myself, my likes, my dislikes, my dreams, so on and so forth... But are we really an island in ourselves better known by only two coordinates, coordinates that define us in isolation. I have always failed to believe in this and hence always failed in giving straight from heart and complete introductions in my life.

So here I attempt an introduction about myself for the first time in its true sense. I am nothing without the people in my life, the people who make me realize that I am. Come to think of it, how do you know you exist... because you take in a chemical element O₂ inside to give a compound  CO_2, or because you see yourself in the eyes of the people around you. Well! its a no brainer, all of us know the answer.  "They are so you are". So here I will showcase the colours of my life, what they make me and what I make out of them.

Brown is the colour which marks my identity. It is the colour of my mother. She gives me the earth and the ground to hold on to. My roots, my beliefs, my values all I got from her. Brown is the colour of soil that reaps flowers, cactus and fruits with equal care and nurture...thats what my mother does too. My imperfections, my follies, my mistake all take shelter in the never ending fields of her pastures. I learnt to stand tall from her.

Orange is the colour that keeps me warm and hopeful. That is the colour of my father. All I know of hope, optimism, cheer, glee, joy all I owe to this man. His life was difficult(Well ..who's isnt) but did I ever see him droop in sadness..never once. He is the balancer of my world, who brings with him the strength and the disposition which can give any trouble a run for its money. I learnt to live (in its real sense) from him.

Pink  is the colour that brought love in my life. It is the colour of my two brothers. Yes, they are the ones who made me realize what "Love" is. My first encounter with a selfless unconditional love happened by design (of God) with the twin angels of my life. Yes! God felt one would not be enough for me, so he showered me with two at one go. But his strange ways...gives some - takes some. He sent them without a voice to this world. But you know what, they came with a note in their palms which read .. "Your voice I already sent in advance one year back- Love God". Ever since that day, it has been an unbreakable bond between the three of us. They bring sensitivity, friendship and love to my life. I learnt to love from them.


Yellow  is the colour for all the beautiful people in my life whom I bumped into by accident, by chance and not be design. This is for all my friends, the ones really really close to me. Names are not important, they never are.. the ones for whom I write this, will know when they read it. That's the thing about friends.. you never need words and at the same time you never fall short of words. There is so much you can tell them, you can listen from them..everything need not make sense too. And in those critical ICU moments of your life, when words fail, they never fail you. Yellow is their colour because they bring sunshine, they smile and the world looks better, they brighten things up and clean up the "shit" in your life..that's why colour yellow. I learnt to smile from them.

So that pretty much sums up my spectrum.. that is what I am ..a myriad of colours that mix with people and people that mix with colours. Its confusing and thats why its beautiful!!!

ps - So what do you think is my colour?? :)

The Shadow of your smile

“Yes she loves me”. Sameer couldn’t believe it was real. Shikha had finally confessed her love for him.

And here they were on their first date. Giving them company was “Hamara Bajaj” and a soft drizzle.

Shikha, sitting on the back seat of the scooter, had accelerated her dream engine and was already time travelling to “lived happily ever after” tomorrows.

She saw the rear glass, and caught Sameer’s eyes. That look and the endearing smile told a million tales.

Vrroommm… came the crash and she was robbed of everything, but the shadow of his smile, to haunt her forever.

This is in response to the below prompt:

The Shadow of your smile

The Ping Pong Ball

 The closest to my heart poem written by me till date ... makes me happy :)  Felt like sharing with all.


                                                   

The Ping Pong Ball

It goes up and it can fall,

It is intriguing for one and all,

How you take it is all your call,

Life is but a Ping Pong Ball…

To every Pong there is a Ping,

For every song, someone to sing,

For every cloud a silver lining,

All that matters is the way of looking…

The game begins with a cradle and you,

You make the rules and break them too,

You learn from each hit and miss,

And growing with the game is nothing but bliss…

When it gets tough you get going,

If the tide is rough you just keep rowing,

The game is on and the ball is rolling,

When you get the serve just go on scoring…

  

Try hard not to miss the ball,

But if you do, don’t feel small,

Back in your court it will be in a while,

When it does make the most of the last mile…

The harder it is hit the higher it goes,

Bounces back with power against the blows,

Free yourself from the fear of falling,

As you are almost there, where success comes calling…

It goes slow and it goes fast,

All you have to do is to last,

Last till the game is on,

And make a mark before you are gone…

                                                             Shiva...

Skeletons of the past

The clock struck 9 and the birds on the Gulmohar tree, accustomed to a pin drop silence in the campus at that time every day, started chirping and chatting and gossiping. For the past 29 years these birds have  been giving rhythm to the otherwise silent routine of Usha's days. This college was never a part of Usha's life, it was the whole. It had given her the purpose, the direction and the zest to move on, to make a difference and more than anything to exist respectably in this ever-questioning , ever-skeptical and ever-pestering cluster of in-humans, which we usually call society.

She has risen from the ranks in this college, toiling through hard work and dedication, from the post of temporary Hindi teacher, to a senior professor, to Hindi Section Dean to now the Principal of the college. This journey was definitely not easy, not because she was any less competent, but because all promotions and career progressions, were not seen as a well deserved reward, but an undue favour, which had roots in either pity  or sympathy or an "in-anticipation" gesture. However has the journey been, it is about to end with her retirement from this college as the Principal in August this year.

Its a Monday morning and  after the morning assembly, she had come to her room and just settled in her desk when her intercom rings.

" Principal Didi, there is a call for you from outside. The gentleman on the other side wants to talk to you urgently but refuses to tell his name. He is the same person who has called three times last week also, but could not talk to you since you had gone for the International Education Summit to Mumbai. May I transfer the call?"

There was a pause, which to Geeta at the reception desk seemed like eternity, but Usha did not even realize. She knew who could that be, and somewhere in her heart hoped that she was right and at that very moment somewhere deep inside a second voice creaked, hoping that she was wrong. But the moment of truth was here already and she had to act. Take the call and disturb the routine of her life or disconnect and keep those ripples at the shore. In that moment, her whole life flashed back in her eyes, like a 2 minute movie trailer, with all the twists and turns.


Usha has always been a stoic, reserved and "hard nut to crack" lady since her early days, who was known for her impulsive decisions and the will power and strength to own those decisions and never again look back and regret in life for the decisions she made. She was not one of those popular demand people, who have the universal appeal, and all around them, who have only two kinds of people, friends and very close friends. Usha, always took time to break the shackles of her personal space and allow people to peep inside. Only a select few, who passed the litmus test of her criteria, knew what lay within. And those people, although numbered, were her life's greatest treasure. They were the ones, who never judged her for her doings and wrong doings (if any), they just loved her for what she was and were always standing as staunch pillars around her in every walk of life.

She still remembers that evening at the bus stand 30 years ago. It was raining and she was waiting for her bus when her eyes met this charming man standing next to her. His were the most warm and scintillating eyes she had ever looked into ...well honestly she had never looked into any strange set of eyes before. He smiled looking at her and her world changed forever. The bus came and as it always happens, everyone at the bus stand, including her, managed to get into the bus in the stipulated time. (no matter how long the queue or in most cases crowd, in the end everyone manages to get on the bus, some early some late..that's the way with life too) Today, unlike other days her focus was not to get any seat, but a seat next to "him". And that she did  and from that moment started her life journey. She was love struck from the word go and she just drifted away with him ignoring all reasons and sound advice of people around. Within next two months, the nuptial knot was tied in the legal presence of Lord Shiva.

Her family was against the marriage as they were not sure of the background of Sudhir, but Usha was in love..and in the love abode there is no room for reason. Usha never met Sudhir's family since he told her there was none. Usha was still in her dream world and could not stop doting her destiny, when the blow hit her straight on her face. One day Sudhir left never to return, only leaving a note for Usha. In that note, very mercilessly, he had confessed that he is already married and has a wife and two kids in his village. They have come to know about his extramarital affair and his brother in law has warned him that if he doesn't return immediately, he will have him behind bars.

So that was the end of her dream and she was forcefully woken up by the cruel reality of her life. She was so heartbroken that did not even feel like sharing the news of her pregnancy with Sudhir. Since that day Usha never looked back and has moved on in life. She has held her ground and faced all the challenges of her life with courage and strength. Her power source is his son Pulkit, and she has reaped him with all the love and hope possible in the world. Pulkit, who knows about Sudhir, has never met him and neither is he interested. For him his mother is all he could ever need and is content and happy in his life.

Geeta's voice jolts Usha out of her thoughts  - "Principal Didi, the person is waiting for your response. What should I tell him?"

Usha knows the person is Sudhir. He had written to her 10 days back telling her, his wife is no more and his life is lonely without a companion. Has expressed his desire to be with her for the rest of his life. For the first time in life Usha did not know which way to go. Could she forgive Sudhir and open a new chapter of her life with him or go on with her life as usual ignoring his existence. She could no longer procrastinate this moment, so with a heavy heart she asked Geeta to connect the phone.

Hello Usha..How have you been?? came the words but to Usha's ears they sounded like .."How have you been without me?? " There was a gush of anger, remorse and pity , all mixed in one for Sudhir in her heart. All of a sudden she had this new strength in her...all this while she had felt  like a victim, some one to whom injustice was done to, but in this moment of retribution, for the first time she felt in charge of her life. And then the decision was not difficult.

Effortlessly she said " Sudhir, I thank you for not being with me and my son all this while. I would have never wanted my son to turn out like you. I forgive you and hope you can forgive yourself too someday"

And she hung up.

Prisoner of our own device!

Prisoner of our own device

This world was a peaceful, quiet and sensible place to be till the time a crazy person got a crazier idea to come out with the craziest invention of his time - The Omnipresent Mobile Phones..

How I remember and miss those days of selective communication... when a land-line connection used to be a luxury and only the affluent "haves" of the neighborhood  had it. So distinct are those memories of my childhood, when my next door aunty ,"Micky ki Mummy" , stood yelling at the top of her voice at her staircase which was just adjacent to our balcony, broadcasting to the whole "mohalla" that Bittu Bhyya from Lakhinpur had got engaged and his mother, Shyama Behenji,  will call again in 15 minutes to talk to Jijaji , in this case my father. And soon after this announcement there was a flurry of activity at our place. Papa was but of course not allowed to step outside the house in his loongi ( Translation for Gen Z -a wrap around skirt for Men, don't get weird ideas), so he was ordered by the Big Boss of the house to change in a decent attire and that too in a time bound manner before the next shout from next door. By the way, "Micky ki Mummy" was an excellent cook and made amazing ladoos, so in hope for one, I always used to tag along as an attendant to my father, who was on a "Phone call Mission"

PCOs, whatever the full form was, started mushrooming everywhere in early 90s. Every entrepreneur with a little money and big dreams, thought this was where the world was looking and investing in this venture would take care of his next two generations at least. Little did he know that PCO had already found its nemesis in a thingy called mobile and it was a already an everyday use thing far ahead in the West.

Remember those queues in-front of that small shady PCO cabins, which became a commonplace hangout for the goondas of the galli, who used to tip the PCO man to reveal the phone numbers of Poojas and Nidhis of those days. 

All this while, I was busy growing up, and by now was a college goer. And thanks to "No Mobile " could easily bunk classes and hang out with friends late in  the evening, in the name of extra classes. There were no every hour tracker calls from Ma inquiring my position, location and status, making me feel like she is M and I am her James Bond. Looking back I feel it was no less than a miracle that all the group outings , well those days our reach was only till zoo and crocodile parks, could be easily managed without any sms, calls that were wrongly missed, and missed calls that were wrongly received to track each others coordinates. No matter how many people from how many different logistic combinations, we all used to gather just at the right place at the right time. 

Alas! those days were numbered. And here came the so called Hitec, technosavy highly communicative world breathing on mobile phone networks and beating to the keypad heartbeats. I have no qualms to accept that I hate this device to the core. It has overshadowed the man's existence. Now people feed the number of the person in their handsets and then ask them their name to save their number. A phone call even if its a wrong number, is any time given more priority to the friend who is sitting in front of you waiting for you to finish your calls and spare some moments for him.

The patience meters of the human kind has touched its lowest best... one missed call and your mother might just register a missing complaint for you in the nearest police station, one engaged tone at 11:00 pm in the night and it might just cost you your girlfriend, one "out of network" message and your boss might job rotate you for insubordination and the list goes on. 

For the lesser mortals like me, who have this knack of losing anything and everything, it is one notch even more worse. We live in this every minute trauma of the possibility of forgetting your "lifeline" the phone at the shop counter or public washroom or if nothing else in the"never-ending & all containing" deep pockets of our handbags.

I dread this device so much that my idea for a dream destination is no hi fi international picturesque get away but a place in nowhere where I have a justifiable reason to be "Out of Existence " (Read Out of Network)... 

So Here I Start...

O’ God give me your brush to paint around..
As it has hues and colours abound
Never it misses the stroke of perfection
Moments of Bliss and treasures of reflection

Yes... so finally I have also ventured into the world of Blog.. Just like the first baby steps..for me as well this was the hardest, all of a sudden, unannounced push from inside to "Just do it " and of-course so very exciting.... Words intrigue me..always have and always will..But as they say the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder..the beauty of my words would lie with the reader.. And that is the most difficult part..till now all I write was mine to own, mine to critique and mine to relish..and now I decide to let it go.. to come out and share, to let You, my reader, judge me. Well Judge you can... but who said a Judge is always right..The last I heard it used to be the Boss :) 

So I start my Blogpost on a so to say "Spiritual" note .. Well that's because my blogger friends told me that for a blog to grow..its not just your skill but a lot many other things that go to make it "Readable ' & "Likeable" ..so here I start taking inspiration from the art of the Almighty...The one who's brush never goes wrong.. Even on his "Bad Hair Day" he comes up with such awe inspiring canvas shades and even on his "Monday Morning Blues" he never fails to splash his hues... 

So I will try to keep the words flowing... Flow in a way it suits them best...and to you all I leave the rest..

Happy and Continuous "Finger Crossed" Blogging to me...