Showing posts with label Beloved. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beloved. Show all posts

Friday, 16 August 2013

The Mia Women Of My Life


It had always been there underneath my mind, to pen down about the most influential women of my life. At the outset I would like to thank Tanishq, for giving me the opportunity to share my thoughts on my Mia women.  Yes, its women, since I would like to confer about two women, who made my life utmost beautiful, with their presence, and can’t count out one, as they are the oxygen and water of my life.

I start off with Mrs. Sheela Soman, the first woman whom I saw as soon as I opened my eyes to this new world.  Being a home maker can be the most tedious and multifunctional job, a woman can ever step into, and I had never seen a woman, other than her, who had worked it well with an unusual charisma. I always wondered how she managed to bring us up and supported her husband amidst all other responsibilities. Soon after her marriage, when dad brought her to an unknown land, she never complained, but got accustomed with the new people, culture, language and the aura, with a smile. She always made the food as per our likings, and always up kept the novelty in what she did. She always had a quest for learning. I never felt her so courageous, until when my grandpa expired, and she travelled back to our native land on a single train berth, with two tiny lives clutching her arms. Being one of the most mischievous kids on earth, I always felt sorry for making her cry. All these years, as her hair turned grey, I had seen her performing different roles, of a wife, mother, daughter, sister, mother-in-law, and every role with utmost perfection. I always felt, my dad is the luckiest man on earth to have a wife like her. In my whole life, I had never seen him scolding her for any reason. She was a good reader of the mind, and it was her early intuition which had always reserved my house as a home. I still remember, the evening, when as an enraged child, I plucked out her golden earring and threw it into the sand. She held me tight to her lap, and started searching for it, with her tears drenching me. She never let me down...

Even today I can dare to expect, my favourite snacks aromatizing at the dining table, with a glass of water beside, as soon as I reach home from my office. I don’t know if it’s another usual story, but I thank God, for gifting me with such a lovely mom.

The other woman who had influenced me equally, is none other than Mrs. Parvathy Sreedev. I met her first in my post graduation classroom. A traditionally dressed bookworm, with an innocent smile, and a tender heart to help anyone, was the first impression, I had about her. I got more impressed when at first she denied my proposal to marry her. I had always admired her dedication and will power. I owe my M.Phil degree to her, as without her it would have never been possible. She took all the pain amidst her academics, to make me attain my dreams. At an early age, she lost her father, and it was her courage, which led her to prosper academically, and become an Assistant Professor at present. She always lived my dreams and never failed to encourage, every bit in me.  It might be her concentration over academics which restrained her from being a versatile cook, but I being a foodie, she always loved to search in Google, for new delicacies and made it for me. It always tasted of love. Even in this busy schedule, she spends most of her time in reading and preparing notes for her students. I learned to worship my work from her. She never compromised on that and the feeling of incompleteness, had always led her towards perfection. Every weekend she travelled almost 200kms to meet her in-laws. I had never seen, a father-in-law loving his daughter-in-law with much intensity and longing to see her. The whole family awaits her arrival, as she had become the darling of our house. I always thought her to be impassive, until last week, when she bought me a red rose. Unlike me, it was gifted to me for no particular reason. For the first time I thought woman to be a wonder…

I don’t know if, yet it is another usual story, but here too I can dare to expect, a reserved space in a heart which holds me before I fall and encourages me to aspire high...

Saturday, 13 July 2013

Haiku 2: On Rain

Monsoon Mushrooms Grew
Drenching My Deserted Heart
Drizzling Like Her Smile


Top post on IndiBlogger.in, the community for Indian Bloggers


(Linking this to Ultimate Blog Challenge) & the Write Tribe prompt.

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

To Zorah From Ayaan


(An Unsaid & Unposted Love Story)


I still wonder, how a careless person like Ayaan, has kept that unposted postcard with utmost care, deep down in that dusty & rustic iron valise , under the red Kashmiri blanket. The card was more than a help for his mind, to travel along those muddy pathways of the past, once again. Those were the only memories which he never shared with his wife Fathima and son Aamir. He walked with the support of his walking stick towards the mirror. He wondered how time has brought wrinkles on his face and hair turned grey, but also that he had dressed neatly. Love has changed him above time, the love for Zorah...

As he leaned over the wooden chair in the backyard for an afternoon nap, he remembered, how a wild guy like him, use to dress up neat and tidy and comb those oily and spiky grasslands, just to get a glance of Zorah on the by lanes to school. Even the breeze was gracious to carry the smell of Cuticura talcum powder, the harbinger of her arrival. How he used to consciously talk with his friends, so that the teacher make him sit near her, as a blessed punishment. Just like any another romantic hero of the 80’s, after schooling as his Baapa expired, the responsibility of the family was laid on his lean shoulders. Even then he used to wait for that rare breeze, though she had left for higher studies.

The days and dates on the wall calendar, changed, the muddy by lanes got tarred, technological developments ran through electric veins, even then it was the same for Ayaan, who had no means to express himself to Zorah. After a week or so, the village rumoured that Zorah has an affair with a guy of her college. The very next week, Ayaan’s family too got an invitation of her marriage, to her distant cousin in Dubai...

He wondered, how on a Ramadan day, he gathered all his courage, and stole a one rupee coin, from his Umma’s Afghani leather lap purse, to buy a postcard. But it lay, unaddressed forever, in the iron valise of Ayaan.

A sparrow woke him up. He confirmed that Fathima and Aamir are not at home. He hurriedly opened the valise, took the postcard out. With his shivering hands he moved his finger on those illegible Urdu words “Taraf Zohrah... Minjaanib Ayaan” (To Zorah from Ayaan)


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is in response to the WriteTribe Contest #1 and also linking this post to the UltimateBlogging Challenge.

Monday, 17 June 2013

Sonnet:1-Moments With Thee


Was Deserted In The Island Of Errors
As You Signed My Memories With Blood,
Salty Tears Of Winter Beckoned Terrors,
But I Was Aloof Of The Impending Flood.

Drenched My Soul With Piercing Glances
As I Gathered The Strewn Petals Of Rose,
Realized! Mere Shunning, Too Enhances,
Deadly Hymns, My Violin Can’t Compose.

Now Playing A Jester, In the Circus Of Life
Cursed To Exist With Just A Single Emotion,
Never Ever Tried To Settle Down The Strife,
Where Identity Is My Ego’s Gifted Demotion.

Still Cherishing Those Moments With Thee
Now The Only Buoyancy, Now The Only Lee...


This is in response to IBL 2013. My entry under Poetry 2: Sonnet. (http://www.writeupcafe.com/central). This is a Shakespearean sonnet following the rhyme scheme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

Monday, 3 June 2013

She Left In The Rain...


She Left In The Rain Without My Umbrella
Creating A Deep Negated Space In My Spirits,
The Miles I Covered Still Lay Green In History,
But Her Smile Was Still Throbbing Somewhere,
As Her Eyes Mused A Hymn To Soothe My Brain,
I Walked Alone, Enjoying Life’s Pungent Sarcasms,
& Nature Being That Unpaid Event Manager, Had
Already Set The Aura Of An Utopian Melancholy,
Making Me Appreciate, That Even 2 Months Skip,
Faster Than The Sound Waves, & As Her Distant
Voice Drenched Me Then, Night Stayed Boisterous,
& Dawn Left My Reveries As Unanswered Soliloquies,
& I Wait With Anticipation, For That Next Friday Evening...