Posted in Random Thoughts

Things I can’t live without

Lately, an article by Colin McQueen left me pondering about things I can’t live without. If I had to take only three things, what will I take?

Of course, we are not counting humans or pets, otherwise I will include my daughter and, by association, her barbie set and their one thousand dresses, her unicorn, the medical kit, a large array of food dishes…

Also, I will include my husband and with him comes his mobile phone, wifi connection, mobile charger, bike cleaning kit, the said bike…

I will include my parents as well and with them comes their phones, playing card stack, ludo set, their laptop, kitchen supplies…

So, in that case, I might take the whole house itself–Why leave the poor thing behind alone and empty?

So I will just things take three things then: mobile phone and laptop, and my debit card for the rest. I mean, the hotels, restaurant and malls are not going anywhere, are they?


This list pretty practical but even as I write it I know it is a lie. I am not a practical person. I live my life like pendulum swinging between being practical and being myself. So, if there were only three things to take, I will take my drawing kit, pen and a diary because these are the things I can’t live without.

My drawing kit: Even in the years I didn’t paint (there were twelve of them), I kept my drawing kit with me as a talisman. I was going through a tough time initially and then, I just left it all behind in the race of life. I would look at the kit and tell myself that I am going to paint someday but never get down it. It was my daughter who drew me out that dark hole and made me paint with her.

It is still difficult because painting reminds me of a lot of could-have-beens but I am trying to make peace with myself that I will never be a world-renowned painter but I am a kick-ass Instructional Designer who can also paint. So, my drawing kit is coming.

A pen and a diary: During school and college days, I always had a decent supply of pens–different colours, cute and inexpensive. (What? I bought it all with my pocket money and while my father was doting, he wasn’t Bill Gates. My pocket money was enough to let me buy little things I liked but I could never afford an expensive Parker pen on my pocket money. My father would get me those.) I also had a huge array of diaries, all supplied by my father: one for songs, one for poetry, several for friends to fill, one for… Well, I think you get the point.

I stopped writing at the same time as I stopped painting. But without be a pen and a notebook, I still feel vulnerable. So, I was hoarding them too until my daughter got the whiff of them. One-by-one my pens started disappearing and now, if I need to write down anything at all, I have to borrow her pencil (pens are all used, empty and probably in a landfill now). In my daughter’s defence, I wasn’t using them anyway. But still the lack of pens makes me feel vulnerable. So I keep on getting new ones though they are bound to disappear the same way within a week. Hence my pens remained inexpensive. I hid my diaries from my daughter so well that I can’t find them anymore. But at least they are still somewhere around here. I will find them once the time comes to live with three things.

And then, I will slip my little debit card in my pocket where no one can see it. (Afterall, the restaurants, hotels and malls still aren’t going anywhere!)

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Longest Road

My father loves traveling and having stayed with him for longer than most kids, I have travelled quite a lot. There is something to be said about long roads. The exciting times when you are drinking every detail slowly gives way to quiet times when you either sleep, write poetry and think of world’s greatest problems. I am sure global warming and world’s hunger issues were realised during such long roads.

But if you ask me about the longest road I travelled, I would say, “The stairs to the washroom on the day I had diarrhoea.”

I remember my entire life running in front of my eyes as I tried to run-walk to the wash, wondering all the time what I did to deserve it. Since I had to rush through that road 11 times in 11 hours, the entire experience was surreal. (Not sure who invented the idea of building washroom on stairs. But I am sure, they help reduce my sins by punishment trip-by-trip.)

During the rush (hours), I went backwards in my life and revisited every single second over and over. I wondered if my actions were bad enough to warrant the punishment; what I could have, should have, would have done. Was it too much oil? Too much food? Lack of healthy food? Lack of liquids? Bread? Yesterday’s paratha? Mango and chilli sauce? Mangoes? Mango shake? (It’s summers. Mangoes are everywhere.)

I experienced the same soul-searching that people do during trips to isolated places. Well, I was travelling to an isolated solace, so it fits, I guess! The road felt so long that the sufferings of Frodo Baggins felt nothing compared to mine.

The plains and hills and valleys were all crossed over and over with such thoughts as, “Will I be able to make it?” “Do I have the power to control what was coming?”

Unlike Frodo, there was no Sam Gamgee to keep me company, which was probably good. This road was not for the faint-hearted, especially once I entered Mordor.

The best I can say about this trip is that it was only one-day-long and I got the day off work. Thank God for small mercies!

Posted in Fiction

Status Quo

Author’s note: Thank you, Stevie Turner for providing the fist line to help break my writer’s block. I hope Pete enjoys it.

Pete would never have thought it could happen to him.

The day was just another rainy day that were so common in his village. It was a life of too much time on hand where weekdays felt like weekends with no deadlines in sight. Retirement was so relaxed, Pete sometimes wished for a little excitement–something…anything that would challenge status quo. The morning walk with his dog was squelchy and uneventful as usual.

They were on their way back when he saw something lying on the road–a small round surface reflecting the grey sky above him. He bent down to look at it. It seemed to be a small pocket watch, clearly an antique piece. It had too many hands and looked one of a kind.

He wondered who dropped it. They must be worried out of their mind. The piece was worth a small fortune. He mentally debated whether he should leave it there for the owner to return for it or if he should take it to the police station just in case the owner had made a complaint.

Still undecided, he bent further to get a closer look. The brass exterior was slightly worn by the years and his hands itched to pick it up and see up close if it really was as old as it looked. So, he picked it up and almost dropped it out of surprise. The piece was pulsing faintly like a state-of-art racing car ready for a ride. The glass front had a tiny latch to open the face. He wondered if it was meant for the visually impaired so they could touch the hands to read the time. Or may be it was meant to adjust the hands, when needed. None of the many hands had moved so far–may be the watch didn’t work anymore and the owner threw it out, not knowing the value of the piece.

He opened the latch to adjust the time, though it was difficult to guess which one of its many hands was the hour-hand and which one was the minute-hand. So, he just touched the most decorated hand assuming, like on all old clocks, it would denote hours.

He felt a rush of wind, but it died down as soon as it started. In fact, he would have sworn he had imagined it if the leash in his hand wasn’t still swaying in the aftermath of the wind. Suddenly gripped by a fear like he had never felt before and he let the watch fall on the road. He knew something was terribly wrong and all he wanted to do was to rush to the wife he had left behind an hour back.

So, he tugged at his dog’s leash to get going but his pet wouldn’t budge. It started barking, trying to pull away. Wondering what caught its attention, he turned to face it and found that his dog was gone and in his place was a dog of a much younger age.

He looked around and the neighborhood looked different; well, not exactly different but greener and sort of younger. The Oak tree on his right seemed to have put on much more leaves than it had in the past few years–

Maybe, he was hallucinating. Or may be it was all a weird dream, he decided. The dog was sniffing him now. Seeming satisfied with its enquiry, it gave Pete’s hand a quick lick and started tugging the leash towards Pete’s home. Pete would have liked to go back to the park where he probably switched his own dog’s leash with this dog. But he was anxious to see his wife. Something in his gut told him that he will not like what he finds there.

So, together they rushed towards his home. He didn’t meet anyone on the way which did nothing to assuage his fear. When he reached, it was difficult to believe what he was seeing. The house was brighter, as if freshly painted and the garden was a riot of colours with flowers growing all over the place. It hadn’t been like this for several years since he quit gardening because of his backache. It couldn’t be his house. He was certain he had taken the wrong lane. He moved backwards, lest he was charged for trespassing.

But before he could take more than a couple of steps away, someone ventured out. His wife? Has she done something to her hair? She didn’t have an appointment at the beauty parlour, did she? Her skin was tighter around her face and her hair were more blonde than gray, as if the several previous years didn’t happen at all.

And she was looking at him in concern, “Oh my, Pete! What happened to you?”

He pinched himself to bring himself out of this dream. When nothing happened, he swept his eyes across the yard to find something to read. He had heard that if stuck in a nightmare, trying to read brings you out. So, while his wife kept asking questions with a worried expression about his out-of-breath countenance and sudden wrinkles, he spotted the newspaper on the coffee table under the portico where he always left it. He opened it. The front cover talked about Donald Trump winning Presidential elections in the US and how he would replace the current President Obama. How was it possible? Joe Biden had become the President of the US last year. Another election wasn’t scheduled for another five years!

He checked the date on the new paper: 21 January, 2017. The paper was new though…not something that carried 7-year-old news. His wife was still asking the same question he had no answer to. The truth dawned upon him and he rushed back to where he had seen the watch, his wife in tow.

The watch was gone. He had just got his forever wish. His life’s adventure had just begun.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Mail

I open mail and I see

my bank trying to reach me

offering a loan I didn’t ask for.

Then there are recruiters

mailing me

on a 10 year-old resume

offering me a job

that I needed when

I was still growing teeth.

People are begging me

to take half of their bank account

to get them out of their country.

I have won competitions

I didn’t enter,

and I have won enough lotteries

to make jealous the Arab emporer.

And then, there are

WordPress notices,

and subscription mails from world over…

What I sought and didn’t find

was a single mail

seeking me as a person

(not as a user or a bank account).

No one misses me…

Posted in Fiction, Nature stories

Demure

It was just out of reach. I stretched on my feet, balancing against the counter but I just couldn’t reach the damned tin. It was a tease if I ever saw one. He knows well how I crave for them, and right now, I had the mother of all cravings.

I looked at him for help but he was smiling dazedly at his laptop. The only thing I hate more than lapdogs is laptops. They are invaders who encroach into other people’s territory taking away their jobs and rightful places. Right now, I wanted to throw this one on the ground and grind it into tiny pieces. It has made my John it’s slave until he he wouldn’t remember I was in the room trying to get his attention.

I looked at that tin once again. I have to get it somehow. Either I will reach it or it will have to come to me…Having lost the battle against the former idea, I decide to go for the latter.

So, I pick myself as gracefully as I can and walk towards John like the models do on TV, making demure noises. He looks around at me and smiles. Good! I have his attention now. I walk closer, circling him, rubbing my shoulders against him.

Finally, he gets the message. He moves that blasted laptop to the table, gives me a heart-melting smile and gets out of his chair.

Then he opens the tin of tuna. I run to my dish. Oh, how I love this man.

Posted in Fiction

Dark Alley

Moving in the traffic,

bodies pressed tight

in the train subway.

She returned home after

surviving another day.

Refusing to take from the good,

hungry in a world full of food,

wondering how she could get used

to the gnawing pain.

Her steps were slow

as she walked down the row

of alleys dark and dreary

in a blacked out haze.

A hand shot at her

out of a dark corner

and dragged her away.

The next day the priest

said last words on a grave,

“We lost a good man there.”

“Yeah, he was good,”

she smacked her lips,

looking in dark streets

for her next prey.

Posted in Fiction

Yarn

“There isn’t enough yarn left for him and you know it well.”

“But they have requested an extension. Maybe you could stretch a bit farther, say another six months?”

“Six months? He doesn’t have enough for six hours.”

“Then add a bit? Weave in another yarn. Jake here can help.”

“And then what? Once this one runs out, they will request an extension again.”

“Well, he’s a good man. You can’t blame them for wanting him around longer.”

“And how many times are you going to add to the yarn? And for how many of them? You know the drill, don’t you? Every time it is time for someone, everyone gets down on their knees and starts asking for an extension.”

“Well, it’s their first time and I can’t deny that. I have an image to uphold, you know. And when I say an extension is in order, you do as I say. I am supposed to be the God around here.”

“Well! You are the boss!” The Fates gave in and motioned Jake, the angel, to help them weave in the additional yarn.

An old man woke out of coma in the hospital, coughing and wheezing, as his grandchildren began shouting in celebration.

Posted in Random Thoughts

I hate rain!

Raindrop splashes

On my face

Running off makeup

That I hide myself behind–

Eyelashes thin,

Patchy skin,

Wrinkled eyes,

Lips dried,

Cheeks hollowed,

Darkening shadows,

Age creeping with all its might.

With brushes I fight

The unforgiving world

That expects perfection

In nails and shoes

And hair dos.

I wish I didn’t have to.

I wish I could just stand in rain;

So droplets would fall on face;

And let the facade slide.

Sigh!

Posted in Poetry

Umeed | Urdu | Nazm

Baad-e-naseem ki aashnai me

Naseeb ki hawa narm nhi chalti.

Kul jama zindagi ka ye nikla–

Umeed lagane se duniya nhi milti.

Wo tajir h jo chahta h mohabbat ka sila,

Ulfat k bazar me arzoo nhi chalti.

Mangane pe karde jo ishq me dakhil,

Mehboob k dil me wo qitab nhi milti.

Umeed lagane se duniya nhi milti.

Chand ki khwahish rakhne walo me

Sitaro ki auqat b nhi milti.

Jinke muntazir ho guzari thi umr humne,

Unke ishq me wo raahat ab nhi milti.

Umeed lagane se duniya nhi milti.


Love for zypher of the west,

Didn’t keep away the tempest.

The sum of my life came to be,

Hope didn’t win the world for me.

Love-for-love only traders aspire.

Alas! In the market of desire

Longing isn’t a currency.

You wouldn’t find the register

in one’s heart to enter

Your soul’s muted pleas.

Hope didn’t win the world for me.

Who ask for the moon in the night

Oft don’t deserve the starlight,

Quit at onset of the journey.

A life wasted pining a-quiet

For love that doesn’t give respite

As once happened to be.

Hope didn’t win the world for me.


Author’s note: Urdu Nazm has several Quartets (4 liners) stitched together to convey the same idea. While translating, I have converted it into a combination of a Quartet and a couple of Sestets (6 liners) with rhyme, which is a first for me since, in English, I usually write in free verse. I couldn’t match the scale without changing meaning though. :)

Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 5

I was supposed to have grown up a long time back. But somehow my brain had frozen at 12 in the same way as my height. I was still unable to understand the cryptic language used by wannabe lovers.

It was a hot and humid day and I was getting my scooter from the parking lot at the Law College. A couple of guys approached me smiling benignly like they were serving me a Happy Meal at McDonald’s.

One of them introduced himself, “Hi. I’m…” (I don’t remember the name.)

“Hi. How can I help you?” I was absolutely sure that my sideway-parked scooter was blocking the path to his Bullet and he was waiting for me to move it and lecture me on the merits of good parking manners.

“I want to become friends with you.”

I waited for the joke to be over. Who was he anyway? I’d never seen him before. He was a Greek god with pink glowing skin, chiselled features and towering height, probably a basketball player. I was slightly jealous–being a Marwari dull-brown and 5’2″, I felt like a muddy blotch on the landscape in front of him. He probably worked for a reality show where they made practical jokes on people. I waited for someone with a camera to jump out from behind the scooters and shout, “Gotcha!”

Also, I couldn’t fathom a reason why anybody would need to approach someone like that to be a friend. All my friends were made generically by sitting in the same class, throwing chalks at the same teacher…

Who made friends by approaching someone in the parking lot?

“Thanks, but I already have too many friends and I can’t find enough time for them.” I started my scooter and left.

On the way home, I racked my brain for some information on this guy. Nothing.

The next day, I was again in the parking lot and saw him looking expectantly at me. I didn’t understand that look. It isn’t a look I give to anyone I want to be friends with. Honestly, this whole seeking-a-person-to-be-a-friend baffled me. I didn’t like being baffled. It wasn’t my natural mode. I was usually a know-all of Hermione level, what with my love for books. I asked my travelling companion if he was a senior. She told me he was our classmate in the boy’s section. Our classes sat together often on days when there were less students.

Seriously? He could have simply spoken with us during classes. I shrugged and started the scooter. “Boys can be so stupid,” I decided.

Next day, I found a paper slip with phone number stuck on my scooter’s handle. I decided to keep it in case I have to report the weirdo to police in future. As I turned my scooter out of the parking, he was looking at me extremely happy that I had accepted his number.

I’m afraid, he might have spent the next few days waiting for the phone call, wondering why it never came.

I wish people did not speak in code. Sigh!