Winter

Atul came back from Bala Vihar today and gave his usual answer 'Nothing' when I asked him "What did you do in the class today?". He is so since his KG days. Many a time, I had to show surprise or shock of the updates happening in the school whereas my darling son always had only one answer 'Nothing'.:)

Even before his arrival, I got the updates from his teacher today. Later on, something flickered in his mind I believe and said, "I wrote a poem on winter and it is graded excellent. It is not my best though."

Well, here it is.....

Winter is a wonderful season of fun
There’ll be a breeze of cold air when we run

We get more of the moon than the sun
What a wonderful breeze comes from the wind while having a bun

We get holidays and have fun while adults rest even a nun
Yes, winter is a season filled with fun

In a few days, children catch severe cold
Even though we want to go out and be bold

We have to do what our parents have told
For children, holidays weigh a kg of gold

Because of this cold, our winter holidays are sold
And when summer starts again, the story of winter folds


Waaaah... what innocence! It really brought an instant smile and glow on my face. My memory shifted to the day when I carried my baby home 12 winters ago. :)

I shall post the poems written by other kids also and update this blog soon.

Change

The much needed change is happening. For good. Not that there was no change at all all these days or years. But I realise it more closely now. Just like the awareness of my breath that gives smooth touches to my nostrils.

The realisation brings tears to my eyes, hides my body in a corner of the house, gives a jerk to my mind every now and then and then there is absolute emptiness in the heart. I cherish every moment of the present. I wish to extend this present as much as possible before another avalanche of negative change sweeps me off.

The forces, both external and internal, do always exist. While I have no control over the external which constantly nags me, this change has usurped the internal. The battle has started. It is going to turn out to be more fierce.

And the world need not know how good or bad a fighter I am.

Don't give up...

How would it feel to be with 72 children from different backgrounds, ages and languages maintain absolute silence to hear one voice of knowledge and wisdom, dynamism and versatility, enthusiasm and challenging, strict yet jovial?

How would it feel to see the tasks and punishments being accepted by the children with a smile on their faces?

How would it feel to see 7 groups of 10 each think as a ‘team’ to solve, interpret and imagine their own modern art drawn in 5 seconds during which time the young minds had thrown such beautiful insights which many adults wouldn’t have even dreamt about?

How would it feel to see our mistakes being repeated again and again glaringly and gain punishments happily from the owner of the voice in the form of writing down mantras 108 times for every mistake?

How would it feel to not sleep continuously for two nights and yet feeling fresh throughout the day?

This and many more happened during the camp organized by Chinmaya Society, Bahrain on 15-17 December, 2008 under the magnetic guidance of Chinmaya Mission Acharya, Swami Mitrananda. The theme of the camp was 'Look Ahead...' based on the text 'We Must'.

It was a wonderful and memorable experience indeed. Wish I was a kid to be a participant of the camp.

I have taken home many messages but one sentence keeps ringing in my ears that supply me more strength and energy and that is “Don’t give up, don’t give up, don’t give up…”

Yes, I won’t give up….

Canvas, Colours & Child

I had stayed away from serious writing wantedly for quite sometime, thus killing my overflowing urge to shape up the thoughts and words that haunt my emotional stream. However, the recent Mumbai attack is churning my emotions in a broader perspective and I had no option but to succumb to the inner demand.

Jim Warren's painting came in handy at this moment. Believe me when I say that I've taken more than 3 hours to write these simple words as my mind battled endlessly for coherent thinking and right choice of words. It seems I am out of touch of writing capabilities now. No idea if I continue to blog regularly. However, here is my attempt. Read on...



I like to test the impact of colours
Onto the torn canvases of the world
With streaks of sky high wishes

I drip those colours of mild hues
And frame fine beings of my liking
To lock my clean hands with them

I want to see my scrambled sprinklers
Breathe with tender love and care
And walk tall in their sheen and glean

A dream rare to realize I’m told
For I only need to colour my white life
And not to pierce other canvases
Or meddle them with my choice of colours


P.S. I sincerely thank the creator of this painting for breaking my numbness to thinking and writing process.

Diwali in lights & colours

* On October 27, the week's Monday meeting was again scheduled at my place and we celebrated Diwali together from 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.

* On 27th evening, all of a sudden Balaji decided to go to my friend's house. What was supposed to be a visit of half an hour gradually extended upto midnight. To my utter surprise, I got udi and Sai Baba's pictures from her which she had only received a couple of days back from Shirdi. Needless to mention how happy I was at that moment to receive them on the auspicious day.

* On 28th evening, we had a stream of guests from neighbourhood to extend Diwali greetings.

* I cannot say how delighted I was to receive calls from my dear friends.

* I was in boundless joy when I read a few words of concern. No idea why I behave like a kid sometimes.

* We are invited for a Diwali bash by our neighbour on 30th evening.

* A Diwali get-together was organised for 31st afternoon at our place. I would be missing the presence of my dear one(s) very much. However, it was a great celebration playing mafia, singing old Tamil songs, antakshari and story telling.

Our small two-bedroom flat is carpeted and hence I cannot afford to light lamps or draw rangolis outside or inside. However, I managed to make up this shortcoming with a few traditional adjustments... :)




When the colours are not available, then what for haldi and rice flour are kept in the cupboards? Here's a display of them in a thali...:)



To add flavour, kumkum and coriander powder too joined in this one...




This is how a typical Gulf Diwali is celebrated - no crackers or sparklers but only lighting of houses and hearts ... :D

Warming up the palms

There was an echo in my spastic brain
To paint with words of illumination
On the glory of lonely sun

A surreal reality it was to hear
For I felt I’m inveigled
To retrieve the forgotten thoughts

Neither did I reflect on the hotness
Nor the greatness of its presence
For I’d already become a child at heart

The glitter of calm water beds
And the display of colourful clouds
Impressed me less to record

Ah! I could see my small eyes
Looking intently at the shining particles
That roamed freely in the cozy rays

How hastily I tried to capture
The warm specks into the little palms
That was less sensitive to failures

Alas! I find very hard to write
On the bubbling innocent feelings
And the shadows of beaming past
For they can't be limited with words


Picture courtesy - www.mundofree.com/nothern_lights/hammershoi9.jpg

The Wait

Usurped by the intangible emotions
My closed eyes that embraced darkness
Let those clichés from the niche of heart

The knees that tucked my face in between
Became wet with tear droplets of longing
That bore the reverential wait with patience

Time stood still in the puddle of life
As there seemed no escape from the drama
That was reveling immensely in delight

I invented then my desire to longing
And ‘the wait’ are my chosen pleasures
To twist moments of life interesting