Tag: Poetry

Posted in My life

Matters of Heart: Act 6

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: My Matters of Heart series is about Indian dating culture and my failsafe ways of dealing with it. This is the sixth part. To look for the rest, just search for Matters of Heart in the Search box.

India may be the land of many languages but regarding the matters of heart, it is pretty much the same–vague! At least, small town India in my teens was like that. You needed to learn Morse code to be able to receive a signal.

That could be because if a guy didn’t hit the mark with 100% accuracy at the correct time and in the correct place and correct company, he might spend the rest of the month in a hospital ward with both hands and legs, and skull in bandages–if he was lucky!

If he was unlucky, he might land up in jail for eve-teasing, harrassment and obscene behaviour in public, or even end up starting a full-scales riot spread across several Indian states–especially if it was a Hindu-Muslim union he was looking for.

As I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts, until the age of 20, I never got a proposal. But honestly, I probably never recognised an attempt to propose. Many of such incidents were due to the vague language signals, which relied solely on reading body language and breaking code words (such as, “I am going for a movie alone.” means “Do you want to come for a movie with me?”).

Considering that I am rather thick in that department, it took me several years of quiet contemplation to understand the full meaning of a lot of these conversations.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one. My friends were equally befuddled. Most being bookish-nerdy-artist variety girls, they all had similar unyielding conversations. Surprisingly enough, I was sometimes able to break the code for them (but never for myself). Unfortunately, my decoding style used to put their hackles up and they would start avoiding the guy making the moves.

So I had a close friend (let’s call her X). Once one of her close friends (let’s call him Y to rhyme with a “guy”) told her that he “liked” me. Now, in those days, “liking” in India was the code word for “kind of crazy about and wish to take on a date”. Note that I had met him only once for 15 minutes in an office setting. When X expressed her surprise, he added, “Yeah, there should be somebody to drive around on my new bike!” And then, when she offered to pass the message to me, he said, “No! No! Promise me you won’t tell her I said that.”

So obviously, X told me. It is the girl’s code to share everything that is expressly forbidden.

Technically, this was the first non-proposal I had received, or I should say the first time a guy had clearly shown any interest in me. It didn’t get me interested. It got me curious. I had to dissect this conversation to see where it came from and where it was going.

Because the three statements together did not make sense: while it is natural to “like” someone and want company on a new bike, you need to tell the concerned person to get that company. Why expressly forbid?

Also if I was a guy, I would never want someone like me just to drive around on a new bike. Men LOVE bikes. They are their equivalent of a lover. (I have a colleague who has the name of his bike tattooed on his arm.) So, if they want a girl for a new bike, that girl will have to be a new-bike equivalent: shiny and polished-to-hilt girl with red glossy lips, eyelashes that are thick enough to be braided, plucked eyebrows, manicured fingers and pedicured feet, and fitted in a dress that shows it all.

A girl who new knew make-up and is a walking ad for “Just Books” wouldn’t fit into the image of the “bike” girl. Besides, I owned a new scooter and would never ask a lift from anyone anyway. So, the statements were not making sense.

Naturally, I wanted to ask Y directly to save me the decoding effort. But X told me that it would look like a breach of confidence to him. And I would move mountains for X. So, I had to solve this mystery on my own, trying to join the dots but always coming back in circles.

What did Y mean by…

Could he seriously consider sharing his new bike with me? I mean, I could take it for a drive…not with him in the back though…

What if he didn’t mean it and was just saying for the sake of conversation…a very dangerous conversation with a potential of public beating?

And why would he bluff to X?

Then inspiration hit–Dil Toh Pagal Hai (One of Shahrukh Khan’s movie–the god of Romance in India)!

Y was testing waters. He was checking X’s reaction to see if she would be jealous, like Anjali in Dil Toh Pagal Hai when she saw her best friend show interest in another girl?

If he was actually meaning to ask her out, he would draw her attention to his intention of getting a girl (and to the fact he had acquired a new bike). Since she was a close friend, it would switch on her jealous-friend track and (considering she wore her heart on her sleeve) it would show on her face.

But the plan backfired because X was truly disinterested. She offered to pass on the message, leaving him scared that I might walk in with my brother and he would have to be admitted in a hospital for broken bones (if he was lucky!).

I offered this explanation to X, telling her that she had a secret admirer who was wondering if he should ask her out. But she was as thick as me, “Naah, if that’s the case, he could have simply asked me.”

Yeah, right!

Posted in Fiction

Mellifluous

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you, Beetly Pete and John Melon for the story ideas.

He was mellifluous. Not his voice–I hadn’t heard it yet. I am talking about the person himself.

As usual, I was late and had to run from my office with my backpack on my shoulders to catch the last bus to my town. I preferred Fridays to visit my parents when it was relatively spacious, as compared to Saturdays when, apparently, the entire world was travelling home.

After a lot of running and jostling, I finally managed to get on the bus. I was still trying to catch my breath at the door while searching for an open seat when I saw him…

…and never looked away.

It was the peace on his face that drew my eyes–a peaceful ship in the sea of turbulent waters…

He wasn’t a regular or I would have remembered such a face. His skin was light brown, and the dimples made him look rather ‘pretty’–if a man can be called ‘pretty’ without being offended.

As I slowly walked forward in the aisle, I realised he was in a deep sleep–how he managed to sleep amidst all the honking and sweltering heat was a mystery to me. But the way his chest rose and fell gracefully with each breath left no doubt that his lights were completely out. His hands resting in his lap looked fluid, even though there was no movement. His black hair flew gently with the wind from the open window and he seemed completely oblivious of my scrutiny…

…or my existence. Somehow, the thought bothered me.

I sat down a couple of seats ahead of him. I would have sat next to him, but the seat was taken by another female. She sat looking rather bored, consulting her watch often, as if wishing for the time move faster. She seemed completely unaffected by his presence.

Was it just me, then, who felt the tug towards him? I wanted to offer her my seat, so that I can sit with him–afterall, she didn’t seem to care either way. But it would be very conspicuous, completely irrational and totally unlike me. Why would I want to sit with him? I didn’t even know his name! Also, I wasn’t a big town girl. I was never friends with boys and my dealings with them were strictly on need-to-know basis. Dating was unheard of in my family and going after a boy made me feel like an overachieving fool.

Not that it stopped me.

I tried to think of other things, like my favourite food waiting for me at home; my father waiting at the bus stand (since it would be dark by the time my bus reached there); my mother waiting at the door, worried why I hadn’t turned up yet (even though I always reached at the same time)…

But it didn’t seem to make a difference. I kept looking back at him–intent on making introductions once he woke up.

Finally, the girl got up and got down the bus and I took her place in a flash.

I was blushing now because people had noticed how I had hurried to get to him. A lot of these people have seen me ride this bus for an year now. We had exchanged gossip on the way to our various destinations. Now they watched my walk of shame back to my seat to retrieve my backpack that I had forgotten in my hurry to secure this seat. They looked at me with me interest, some of them raising their eyebrows in obvious questions with knowing smiles.

I was also blushing because, as I sat back, our shoulders were touching. A small-town Indian girl that I was, I never had a boyfriend, and the only other boy I ever touched was my elder brother–to get piggyback rides. Of course, I sit next to other people in the bus and in office. But it never felt like this–like I was stealing a moment. Pathetic!

I didn’t like sitting next to him though. It was difficult to look at him properly now. But I could tell his profile was even more interesting. The crow’s feet around his eyes reminded me of happy times; of hikes and dips in the river; of lemonades and jokes; of shared family tales and good-natured ribbing…

It was still light outside and he slept on. His closed eyes were peaceful amidst the various traffic jams that our bus was stuck in. Even the sunlight falling on his face didn’t seem to bother him. His breathing was even and restful–like soulful music meant only for my ears. It made me drowsy. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t want to disturb his peace. Surely, we can talk once he woke up…

An old fellow Friday traveler woke me up at my stop. The seat next to me was empty except for a gun wrapper. I felt my stomach drop as collected my backpack.

“He waited for you to wake up for eons. Kept stealing glances but didn’t want to disturb your sleep though. So, when his stop came, he jumped over the back of the next seat.”

Sensing my disappointment, she gestured at the gun wrapper with a smile, “I saw him scribble on it right before he left. I think he left his number for you.”

Posted in Poetry

Mulaqaat | Sher | Urdu poetry

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Milti nahi thi ghadiya jinhe ashique se milne ke liye,

Rote hain ghanto se wahi intezar me dafeene ke liye.

…

In rukhsar ke moti kafan pe chamak chhod jayenge.

Chali ja! Zamaana haazir hai ilzam dene ke liye.

Translation:

Who couldn’t find seconds for love,

Is here crying for hours at my funeral.

…

Pearls from your cheeks will leave a sheen on my shroud.

Go away! For the world will see it and blame you aloud.

Author’s note: Sher in Urdu poetry is a couplet with a central idea that can standalone as a separate piece.

It also requires a certain word balance, somewhat like syllables in English poetry but much more complicated since each letter has its own weight. It is clearly outside my range of abilities. 😊 I just try to balance syllables where I can.

Posted in Poetry

Mooning

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Midnight. At the windowsill,

Moon reminds me.

Sprinkling silver pixie dust,

Lighting up the path

For Words to find me.

…

Sleep spreads its blanket

On the neighbouring bed.

Enraged Jealousy urges me

To shake awake

The Sleepyhead.

…

Muse nudges the

Story hiding within.

Spying the pen, she retreats,

Fearful of the ever-

judging Punctuation.

…

Sleep warns Desperation–

Inching towards her patrons

to seek help.

Sense prevails.

Who wants grumbly audience?

…

Responsibility cautions

To wait for the first light.

Unacceptable though,

I watch Moon sitting on the windowsill,

Sprinkling moonlight.

Author’s note: I have not learnt writing poetry, but I dabble with it sometimes.

  • I have tried a 1-2, 1-2-3 dancing style here.
  • Personification is meant to build a crowd on an otherwise quiet, lonely night.
  • I have also tried shape-writing to bring a sense of repetition where you return from where you start.

Please let me know which part of it worked and what sucked. :)

Posted in Book Review

Book Review | The Enchanted April

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Once again, I hit gold with Project Gutenberg online library. I found “The Enchanted April” by Elizabeth Von Arnim.

Disclaimer: It is not a book you would read in a readathon and enjoy. It is a lazy book to take on a long journey or may be daily commute for a month, or may be, to read by the bedside when you have time to introspect.

Set in 1922, a group of women–strangers to each other, totally different in ages and circumstances–hire a castle on a whim to get away from everything they considered as their lives. Starting with friction that often comes when a bunch of head-strong people are fitted together too close for comfort, it becomes a beautiful journey of finding oneself, and upon finding that, realising that forgiving oneself is the first true step to happiness.

This book is a window into the soul of all who feel unloved.

Enough said, you can find this book here: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16389

Let me know what you think.

Posted in Blogging

It isn’t what it looks like!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Once again, I missed her.

My siren.

There she was singing to me about new stories,

Sitting right beside me,

While I plodded on with office work,

Waiting for it to be over,

So I could write down what she was telling me.

Now I sit with smartphone in hand,

Clueless of what

I was sure to have memorized.

My siren is long gone,

Disappointed at being ignored,

Suspecting of my love.

This is what happens when

You spend too much time with Work.

I hope she knows it isn’t what it looks like!

Posted in Blogging, Random Thoughts

New excuses: Marriage(s)

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The best part about my blog posts is how I come up with innovative excuses for not posting anything. I think half of my planning time (I get around 20 minutes a day to plan and create posts, if any) goes in thinking of excuses for not posting this time and the rest of the time goes in typing it. Like today. My latest excuse is marriages… that is, in plural.

Not mine, of course. I got married nearly 10 years back…Gosh! 10 years!? And have no intention of repeating the experience of an Indian wedding. To know my thoughts about an Indian wedding, you can go through my previous posts (I do: Part 1 and I do: Part 2). To say that part 3 and 4 are still being written says volumes about the amount of time and energy that goes in describing an Indian marriage. For an immersive experience, you can watch the movie Hum Apke Hain Kaun. If you survive till the end, you can tell me what you think of it 🤣

Getting back to the point, everyone around me is suddenly getting married. For 10 years, I had been cocooned in a false sense of safety which was suddenly torn away from me when one of my husband’s cousin got engaged in August. Considering we are Indians, obviously everyone was involved. I played the clueless bhabhi (brother’s wife), and played it well. So, people decided to take it up a notch and another close cousin got engaged, then my own brother-in-law and then one of my older nieces. And since, it is inauspicious (and potentially unsafe) to keep a marriage waiting for more than three months (lest the bride or groom decide to elope–alone, of course), the marriages had to happen soon.

Ramadan is anyway a busy time but with three weddings–one in each weekend after Ramadan (one of them being my brother-in-law’s)–we were cleaning up, shopping, hosting guests, shopping, hosting guests, booking, hosting guests, attending marriage, attending guests, cleaning up, attending guests, cooking, hosting guests… hosting more guests until we couldn’t stand and couldn’t walk. Ultimately, I decided not to visit the third marriage. (I still need to talk to my aunt and apologize for bailing. I hope she forgives me.)

And did I forget to mention, I had to look nice…perfect…immaculate…polished to shiny perfection…

Especially me, because I am the eldest bhabhi of the clan. I had the duty to look like someone who was holding herself together perfectly well while all I wanted to do was whine about having to run up and down the stairs all day. I had to put on face packs while cooking and apply make up while attending guests who were filling the house to seams. I would apply blush on one cheek and go meet someone, apply shadow on half an eye and go help someone, apply lipstick on half a lip and deal with my daughter. And then I would apply mascara. And spread on different spots of my face. Then I would wash it and start over.

Sometimes I think that make up brushes are equipment of modern torture. They can’t beat you anymore so they tell you to apply make up– there are brushes for everything blush, highlighter, powder, liner, eye shadow application, shadow mixing, mascara, eyebrow… And they always poke you in the eye. You apply eye shadow–it throws powder in your eyes. You put on liner–it is more inside the eyes than out. You clean it and put on just mascara and it pokes you in the eye until you drop the brush (on your cheeks, of course) and howl in pain and swear to god’s that you would never do it again. Then you wash your face and do it again!

Not sure if I got the order correct. I never got the order correct so I got a Color Correction (CC) cream to avoid primer, foundation, concealer, highlighter… It didn’t do anything but it made it look like I was trying, so no one commented. My pathetic attempts to make up were lauded as “Well tried!” “Look at you, you have actually put on make up!”

As far as I am concerned, I looked like a pink-faced monkey. Well at least, I wasn’t looking like a silver-faced monkey like nine years back when my sister-in-law tried to do my makeup. That experience was what drove me to do my own makeup. Of course, I could have got a professional help. But I didn’t have the time in the many days of festivities.

So, I just trudged on. I would say, I did well.

Honestly, in retrospect, it wasn’t so bad. I met a lot of nice people I couldn’t recognise (because of make up, of course) but it was nice to see smiling faces and spend time with my sister-in-law who lives far away. We had a housefull of kids and loads of drama going on that it part of every Indian marriage, but it was fun.

Now, I still have laundry to deal with, which is a remnant of the marriages that started three weeks back. So, goodbye for now. I hope I have given an excuse good enough that you will excuse me for not posting for another few days! 🤣🤣🤣

Posted in Fiction

The Bouquet

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was expecting her at our neighbour’s wedding, being her first cousin. But still, it is a punch in the gut. Closing my eyes, I breath deeply to avoid doing something foolish–like grabbing her hand and running away before anyone can react…

It is a stupid thought though. Her brothers are on high alert. I can see them giving me dirty looks, like daring me to take a single step towards her. I am not going to, of course. She is off-limits now that she is married. She is tied to that man for seven lives–that mountain of a man with a huge chest and a large moustache…

Didn’t she tell him she hates moustache?

I sneak another look at her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me. She doesn’t look any worse for wear anyway, like she is doing fine without me. So, it seems only I was holding out the candle for her.

She looks lovely, like a proper indian married woman sporting a red salwar suit, large traditional red bindi on her forehead, red and white chuda adorning her arms and a red embroidered dupatta covering her head…

She used to hate red. She was against girls being typecasted into reds and pinks. She had once made me swear that I would never ask her to wear red or cover her head after our marriage…

Our marriage…well, it doesn’t seem to be on her mind anymore now. She seems serene, smiling politely as she nods at something her aunt is saying…

She used joke that married women act all grown up in public and don’t laugh because they are not free to laugh anymore; that I should never expect that of her…

She used to be a wildflower, not ready to fit in the social bouquet.

I don’t know what to expect of her anymore.

But somethings never change. Anyone knowing her would see that she is already bored of the conversation. She was never the one for small talk. But she is trying to be polite. But her gaze is already drifting away from her aunt, looking for an escape.

Suddenly, her gaze falls on me and her entire being lights up. She starts to take a step towards me…

But her husband asks her something. The realisation returns and the light dies out of her eyes. She smiles a fake smile at him reserved for people she can barely tolerate and returns to acting like a grown-up..

She is one off the bouquet now.

Muskurata toh ab bhi hai,

Bhale gairo ke sath hi,

Us guldaste me ab wo

Gulistan si khushbu nhi.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Working for the rich

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Lately, I have been working as a jewellery- and dress-designer for probably the richest doll on the Earth. She is the Barbie I gifted to my daughter last summer, she is named as Elsa (after the Disney princess, of course). Ever since then, I have been hard at making dresses suitable for her station in life.

Lately, my daughter requested my help for making jewellery for Lady Elsa based on her original designs.

Within a couple of hours, we had seven new sets of necklaces and earrings, along with a tiara, made out of buttons, fake pearls from my junk jewellery and metal wire, held together with a lot of love (because love is a magic and only magic can hold these fragile things together). That, of course, excludes the four previous jewellery sets that had been lost in the previous month.

My payment was ten-kisses-a-piece, which I consider quite generous.

It is rather nice working for those rich in love. :D

Posted in Nature stories

My Neighbour: The Earnest

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This post is based on a real incident…well, more or less. I was looking out of the window and witnessed what looked like a clear case of eve-teasing. I am just trying to look at it from the victim’s perspective.

Jeez! How many times do I have to say ‘No’ for someone to understand it? Here I am pecking quietly on the tin shed, eating the grains supplied by the human working below, when this jerk flies down and lands close to me.

So, I think, “Oh! He wants to share”. I move aside and make space for him.

And what does he do? He scoots closer…so close, I can smell the enticing smell of peppermint leaves on his breath.

So, I move further away. And his trots closer.

Sheesh! I jump on the closest low wall, and he follows like he is stitched to my shadow.

I run on the wall, and he follows calling after me, “Hey! Wait up. You are too fast! I can’t keep up!”

I am like, “Dude! That is precisely the point. I don’t want you to keep up with me.”

And he’s like, “Huh?” And he flies and lands too close yet again.

What the heck! Can’t he just go and eat some wheat grains, groom his feathers or sleep on a rooftop somewhere else…far, far away? I can’t be caught talking to him. I’ll be a laughingstock for a lifetime! So, I take flight this time. And he stupidly chases me in the air!

Can’t he see I am not interested? There are better things to do in life than date a stupid pigeon who goes by the name “Rapunzel”! I mean, what woman would ever want to date a guy named Rapunzel!?

I don’t want to be mean, but he leaves me no choice. So, I sit down on a stone archway to the next-door temple and say what sounds like the greatest cuss words ever known to the pigeon-kind, “Rapunzel! Go away!”

He sits a little farther this time, “Not you too! I am NOT Rapunzel!”

“What do you think I am–a chick-just-hatched? I have heard that human girl call you ‘Rapunzel’ at least a dozen times.”

“How do you know that? Have you been keeping tabs on me?” He asks, looking smug.

“I am not keeping tabs on you,” I hope I am not blushing like stupid human girls. “I live here. I hear things.”

“Well, then you know that she calls all pigeons ‘Rapunzel’.”

“Liar!”

“Well, I am a bit wrong there. If you sit on her windowsill in a group, she will probably call you Rapunzel and the rest of the group will be Ella, Snow White, Elsa, Bella and other Disney princesses in that exact order. She can’t tell that some of us are Prince Charming!”

I am intrigued now, “Are you ‘Prince Charming’ then? I mean, it is nearly just as bad!”

“Ugh! No! I don’t have a name. You can just call me ‘Hulk’!”

Eww! “I think, I’ll pass.”

“So, will you come out with me? I know a really cool place with loads of fresh grain and an amazing view of the river,” he says as he carefully moves closer to me on the top of the stone archway, looking a little unsure of himself this time.

Good! I like him better when he is not being haughty…

I mean, I don’t really like him like that…

Well, at least not yet…

Sigh! Who am I kidding? I have been keeping tabs on him…

Still, I roll my eyes, trying to play hard to get, “You really don’t know when to give up!”

He has probably sensed I am giving up, because he stands up a little taller, “I know exactly when to give up, which is why I am not giving up on you yet.” He tilts his face to a side inquisitively, which makes his neck shine in a multitude of colours. “So, are you coming with me before all the fresh grain is gone?”

“Well, lead the way. I will probably dump you after we have eaten anyway, Rapunzel!” He rolls his eyes and smiles, and we take off to the nearest fields I have already visited alone this morning.

I know it will be better with him by my side, smelling minty and looking like Prince Charming. But I am not telling him that. At least, not yet!

Author’s note again: To learn more about how my daughter named Rapunzel (poor dear), you can go through my other posts here: Meet Rapunzel and Rapunzel 2.0