poohnotpiku

[poohnotpiku]

The Bygone Days

Gone are the days, when afternoons meant siesta…

Gone are the days, when summers meant vacations...

Gone are the days, when treats meant a cone of ice-cream…

Gone are the days, when Maggi tasted like heaven..

Gone are the days, when weekends meant all play…

Gone are the days, when assignments were science projects…

Gone are the days, when good work meant a pat on the back by favourite teacher…

Gone are the days, when scolding from parents was feared…

Gone are the days, when days started and nights ended with friends...

Gone are the days, when solitude was not a word in the dictionary…

Gone are the days, when we woke up with a light head…

Gone are the days, when we went to sleep with a full heart…

Where have those days gone? Will they ever return?

Stupid self still keeps up the hope to live those days again….

---x---

[poohnotpiku]

A Broken Soul

Broken soul wandering, hopping along the broken paths..

Eerie silence all along, no fellow soul to behold..

Being followed by the sun, the moon and the stars..

The entire universe spread near and afar..

Sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves..

And gargling water of the nearby stream…

There is peace in the silence and consoling loneliness..

Hopeful search for light in the apparent darkness..

Closed eyes and open ears, hoping for a divine message..

Losing the earthly connections, trying to discover one self..

The lost soul asks, is this enough or there is more to it?

Alas the universe has nothing to say, the answer lies within....

A fellow soul passes-by, while confused soul keeps looking, desperately searching..

--x--

[poohnotpiku]

The Lake

It spread far into the horizon, on looking out from Her window. Every morning She wakes up and looks outside and see the vastness of the pure blue sky on the ground, reflected on It’s surface. Every night She goes to sleep looking at the moonlight sparkling like silver water on It. So vast yet peaceful, so serene yet aloof. It seemed to call out to Her, like a friend. It was The Lake, the huge mass of water separating Her world from the world on the other side.

The Lake was dotted with trees on one side, far off skyscrapers on the extreme other side. There were small huts lining one of It’s side,  with benches to sit on, near the shore. The Lake has witnessed generations of children playing football on its banks and had swallowed so many balls into its depths. It has seen romantic couples exchanging vows of forever love on Its shore. It has felt the pain of broken hearts who came to It and weeped, assuming no one was there listening to their cries. It had nestled in It’s bosom hundreds of stones being thrown into It by lonely bored souls. It has served as the settling ground for the idols being immersed in It through the years. It has bigheartedly accepted the offerings of flowers and other religious stuff by devotees in all these years. It never turned away anyone, who came to It, with hopes or despair. It always nestled them and comforted them.

There were few paddle boats lined up on one its corner, bobbing like bubbles on boiling water. These boats had seen better days and now were lying neglected with algae and other water plants growing out from them. Whose boats were these? What stories had these boats to say? What were their days of glory like? What were the stories of those who paddled them through the calm surface of the Lake? It will always be a secret between the Lake and It’s companion boats.

The Lake has been there since time unknown. The Lake looked silent on the surface but It nestled in It's heart, stories and horrors of the past, whose turbulence could only be felt by a true seeker. The stories It had to tell but no one to listen to. The knowledge It possessed but no one to share with. The secrets It held but no one to confide into. The experiences It had gained but no one to pass onto. It stood there silent and watching and waiting. She could feel It, It’s loneliness, It’s need for a friend. She walked towards It, dipped Her feet in It’s cool soothing water and stood there for minutes or hours or days, neither of them could tell. They talked in silence, with the tiny ripples of water hugging Her tight. She felt the eras passing by Her, like a spacecraft cruising through the voids of the universe. Time had come to a standstill while She bonded with Her new friend, The Lake.

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[poohnotpiku]

Afternoons with Nani

A lazy summer afternoon when most people are indoors, enjoying siesta, we excitedly went to her place aka Nani House. She opens the door slightly, to check who is on the other side and on seeing us, lovingly opens her door wide. She has just come out of bath with a towel wrapped like a turban around her washed hair and another towel covering her blouse, as she was about to drape her saree, when we appeared at her doorstep. She lovingly invites us in.  We enter not into a house but a museum of our childhood memories. We walk behind her into her well lit bedroom. She drapes her cotton saree with such geometrical precision which comes only after years of practice! Then she goes into her temple room and sits on a mat in front of her idols. We sit on the floor beside her while she offers her prayers and chants. In one corner there is, like always, a small steel bowl containing a fruit, any seasonal fruit, which is offered to the deities. Once her prayers are done, she carries the bowl to the dining table and sits on the chair on her fixed leftmost corner of the table, and cuts the fruit slowly, as if she had all the time on the earth. We wait patiently for getting our share of the prasad, which we eventually get as a slice or two. Those prasad fruits also tasted differently. Then we would talk for some time about daily stuff and she would go into the kitchen to prepare the lunch. She is one of the best cooks, like most of the grandmothers! Her sambar-rice taste, still tantalizes our memories. We would then silently sit on the table, eating from her old solid steel plates and saucers, which still exist without any dent, even after 30 odd years. She then brings 2 mangoes on a plate and offers the slices to us, while she devoured the pulpy seed with her teeth and knife. May be its in our genes, as we too love the mango seeds more than the slices! After lunch is wrapped up, its time for her afternoon nap. She lies on the right side of her bed, covers her eyes with her saree and starts snoring away, while we are left to spend our time watching television in the other room. She wakes up after an hour of nap and goes into her balcony and sits on her chair with an aluminium plate full of pulses, that she cleans for pebbles and husk. Rays of setting sun glisten her henna-ed hair, which glows like a golden crown on her head. We sit on the ground, around her chair, talking away while she keeps sweeping the layers of pulses with her light fingers. On the corner of the balcony are glass jars of pickles, left there to be sun-dried and most of which would ultimately come to us. Then she would get up and make tea, which we would enjoy on the balcony while watching the sky getting dark while the sun sets in the horizon.

Those were some peaceful afternoons when we had no hurry to be anywhere, when simple home cooked food tasted like heaven, when fruits tasted sweet as nectar, when we had time to watch the birds chirping away on trees, when we could talk away for hours or sit silently in her company, without feeling lonely. Priceless days, now just pages in our memories! Those were our Afternoons with our Nani aka Badi Maa!

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[poohnotpiku]

The Clouds

Have you ever thought what is the first thing that catches the attention of a toddler, when it looks up at the sky? What is the most common inspiring thing to artists, be it painters or poets or musicians? What is the first thing you would see, when asked to imagine a fantasy world with closed eyes? Yes, these are fluffy, candyfloss kinds, bundles of cotton, floating around in the sky. A toddler jumps high to try to catch them, a poet tries to capture their essence on a paper, a painter uses his brush to bring them down on his canvas, a musician weaves them into her notes and we float on them in our fantasy world! These are The Clouds.

She has been fascinated by these balls of fur from her childhood days. She is often mesmerized by the play of colours on these furballs, sometimes pure virgin white and sometimes deep pink of shyness and on some days dark black colour of fear and agony. She loves the way they are swept away by strong winds on a windy days versus the way they keep strolling in the sky, like old people, on a windless day. She loved the idea of them walking along with her, She on the ground, They up in the sky, both moving harmoniously. She used to look up at them and try to picture shapes of things like a train engine bellowing steam or a cute rabbit hiding in bushes or an old granny with specs on her noes or a ballerina couple whisking away on a smooth floor. Every time She looked, She could pinpoint some new shape. It was as if She was a potter and with her imagination She could shape these fur balls in any desired shape.

These Clouds shield us from the cruel rays of the sun on a hot sweltering afternoon. These Clouds carry in Their bosom, the rain water which quench the thirst of the dry arid lands on the ground level and of the parched human beings. They make the rivers flow and make the fields green and lush. They, with their silver lining, hold within their folds the hopes and the dreams of those who look up to them with eyes full of emotions and pains.

On a bright sunny day, They dance around in the sky like carefree toddlers. But on the dark days, just like an upset person, They grumble and thunder. Their rash anger can be heard and felt across the land. They too burst with frustration, causing havoc everywhere. But what pesters Them and make Them behave erratically? What causes this sudden shift in Their image, from cute fur balls to weapons of destruction. No one would know. No one will understand Their pain. May be They too get tired of serving others, while receiving nothing in return. May be They are frustrated of aimless floating in the vast blue sky and just lash out. May be They are tired of the hefty emotional pressure from the expectations of the eyes always looking up at Them, with hope. May be They also need to vent out from time to time. May be They were as helpless as the humans on the ground. Whatever be the case, She understood Their pain and Their journey. She knew that These dark scary Clouds will soon have a rainbow appearing around them. A rainbow of hopes and dreams. She stood at a corner, watching Them moving away slowly, like the gypsy carts on a trail. She bade them farewell, knowing that whenever She is alone and sad, She will always look up at the sky and find these friends of Hers, These Clouds, looking down upon her and showering upon her, a rain of bliss and happiness!

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[poohnotpiku]

The Hut

On the outskirts of the busy city, beside a beautiful blue-green lake, just on the outside of the woods, stood this deserted dilapidated piece of art. For how many years has It been there, no one can say. There are no records of Its construction or Its owners. It seems to have appeared just out of thin air, may be via time travelling from a long forgotten era. It was known to the locals as The Hut.

She was passing by the countryside when her eyes fell on this beautiful piece, made of dark solid wood with weeds and other outgrowths surrounding it from all the sides. The Hut had an old crooked fence as Its boundary on the front, with a gate barely hanging on its hinges. She couldn’t resist herself. It was as if The Hut was summoning her, inviting her over. She was pulled towards It by a force unknown. She opened the gate slowly and could hear a crackling sound, proving that the place hadn’t been visited by anyone since ages. She found herself on a tiny pathway, hidden away in overgrown grass, with neglected garden on either side. There were several wild plants in the garden, carrying various species of flowers and fruits, which looked enticing but equally dangerous. She found herself on the foot of the house and climbed the cracking wooden stairs and reached the balcony, surrounding It on Its three sides. There were planks missing in some parts of the balcony floor, and She could get a glimpse of the dark underground basement.

Reverently She opened the main entrance door, with a couple of pushes. As soon as the door opened, a gush of stale air hit her face, as if it was waiting to escape. She was taken aback for a few seconds by the force and the fumes.  She took a deep breath and cautiously entered The Hut and stood inside the dining room cum kitchen. There was an old table, with broken chairs, occupying the centre of the room, covered with dust. She could visualize a family, from the past, sitting around it and enjoying peaceful dinner under the candlelight. She turned her head and saw the old earthen utensils on the shelf, covered with cobwebs. She could imagine their beautiful vibrant colours decorating the place in the past. She entered the living room and could see an old bookshelf in one corner and a shabby rocking chair by the window with broken glass. She imagined the grandmother of the family, rocking in the chair while sewing cardigans for her beloved grandchildren.

A staircase on the left corner of The Hut led to the upper floor. How many children would have run up and down on these stairs, she imagined. The rooms upstairs looked untouched like holy grail. She opened each door along the passage and imagined the people living in these rooms and their lives within these wooden walls. Were they happy and carefree? Did they have parties and lit bonfires and danced around it? Where was the Christmas Tree put every year? May be on the right corner of the living room, beside the old fireplace. Where there any youth living here, who felt this place to be a prison and longed for the city life? How many generations had The Hut given shelter to? Where had all those people gone? Why had they left their belongings behind? Were they in some hurry to leave and never got the chance to come back to this place? Why was this place left deserted and neglected? Why was there no one caring for It?

She was full of questions, but with no answers. She was so desperate for answers, that she started whispering her questions to the deaf walls, or were they really deaf, or just mute? She looked for some sign, some hint that It was listening to her. Suddenly there was a loud bang and the main door was shut by the force of wind. She felt vibrations running through her. She felt as if The Hut was trying to convey It’s gratitude to her, for coming along and showing interest and concern for Its past. There was a lot that It wanted to share with her. There was a lot She wanted to share with It, to console It. Wasn’t this a journey, we all face in our lives, were we are left alone to fight our own battles, while hoping to share with someone our struggles, our emotions! She whispered back her heartfelt gratitude to this structure for standing strong, despite all the neglect. She hoped they both could befriend each other, She hoped It didn’t feel lonely anymore…She knew She had made a new friend…Her Hut….

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[poohnotpiku]

Paheli Kismat Ki...

Hum sochte the ki…

Hum koomhar aur humari kismat, geeli mitti…

Hum badal hain aur humari kismat, sookhi zameen…

Par kya hum kismat likhte hain? Ya kismat humen bana rhi hai?

Ab ehsaas hota hai ki…

Koomhar to kismat hai, jo humare jeewan ko mannchaha roop de rhi hai…

Baarish ki boonden to kismat hai, jo humare rookhe sookhe jeewan ko kabhi kabar bheego rahi hai…

Kismat humare haathon mein nhi…hum uske haathon mein katputli hain…

Wo rassi kheench rahi hai, aur hum uske isharon pe naachte chale jaa rhe hain…

Wo manzil choon rhi hai,aur hum ek bebas musafir ki tarah aage badhte jaa rhe hain…

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[poohnotpiku]

The Tram

If one has visited the city of Kolkata aka city of joy, one wouldn’t have missed It. If one would ask around about touristy things to do, perhaps one of the tops ones from the list would be It. It is part, or rather soul, of Kolkata,  since years. The people of Kolkata might have forgotten this heritage, but It still is a chapter, written in golden letters, in the history of the city of joy. It is something we Kolkatans are proud of, yet we ignore. It is something we hate to love. It is The Tram.

In the fast pacing world of superfast metro-trains, in the world of always running late people, It has no value. It is not being able to keep up with the rat-race, we all are busy in. Perhaps, It is out of place in this world, in this era. But still It is breathing away. It is happy to host the tourists from out of town, full of excitement and awe. It is satisfied carrying the slow moving old people, who have no where to rush to. It smiles with the smiles of the school children riding it, while energetically going to schools in the morning and returning home in the afternoon, tired and lazy. It enjoys listening into the gossip by  groups of middle-aged ladies, either returning from shopping or escorting their school-going children. It loves hearing the sound of ruffling tickets that the conductor makes while passing around to collect fares.

With a pensive mood, It also notices a solo rider, sitting right on the back seat, looking out of It’s wide windows, with drops of tears rolling down. It can feel her pain without even knowing the cause. It watches sad faces of the old people, who have been left behind by their children moving abroad to shinier horizons. It looks sadly at the poor man counting his coins to pay the fare to the conductor. It can feel the responsibility on the shoulders of the hawkers, boarding It, to sell their wares. It feels the same hunger as the beggar on-board, asking around for alms. It can hear the sadness in the voice of the street children singing joyful songs to entertain the passengers and may be earn some money to feed the hungry souls back home.

It feels everything…. from sadness to happiness, from loneliness to entertainment, from smiles to tears, from laughter to silent groans, from hunger to stomach full of gossips etc. But does anyone feel for It? May be it was too much of an ask!

She boarded It and looked around with awe. She touched its old wooden benches, the same ones from eons. She sat on a window-seat and felt the electrical veins on top of the Tram’s head, powering It up for the journey. She could feel how old It was getting with each passing year, walking the roads like an old woman with crooked back and aching knees. Another tram passed by them on the parallel track. It felt like as if two sisters were exchanging news when met coincidentally on the road. She could feel the vibrations of emotions echoing from It’s walls. When asked by the conductor about her destination, She couldn’t answer because deep within her She knew that She will be sitting there till the last stoppage. She will be with It as long as It wants. She will be a true friend to this friend of all…to Her Tram…

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[poohnotpiku]

The Clock Tower

It stood in the middle of a busy road, looking down upon the crowd of people and swarm of cars and other vehicles surrounding It. It was enveloped by loud honking and constantly exposed to thick black fumes, day in and out. No one paid attention to It, at least not now, when It has been years since It was constructed. It was in need for maintenance and repairs, but no one cared for It. It still remembered the day when It was inaugurated and throngs of people had gathered at its base, clicking away pics for their social media posts. There were headlines in the daily newspapers about Its glory. How proud and important It used to feel in those days. Those were the prime days of It’s life. Today, when It had aged and is a dilapidated old structure, It is standing alone but still standing tall. It was the Clock Tower.

She has been passing by It almost daily, for the last many years of her life. Just like others, She had not paid any attention to It, except the first day when She had first seen It. However, today She stood across the road and watched It carefully. She shaded her eyes to the piercing sunrays with her hands, and looked up. There She could see the clock ticking away. She could see one of the dials from her position, knowing that similar three other dials were clicking on the three other three faces of the tower. The clock had just struck the second hour of the afternoon and the bell chimed twice to mark the hour. She remembered daily going to sleep and waking up daily hearing to these chimes. The chimes had become so closely woven in her life, that on days when the bell didn’t sound, She could feel the void left by it.

She kept looking at the tower and tried to imagine what was It thinking, standing there like a lifeless structure. Was it feeling the joy of being surrounded by so many people? Or was it feeling alone in a crowd, like She felt most of the days? She could imagine how in the early days when a clock tower was the only source for people to know the time of the day. Today everyone had watches and cell phones telling them the time and they had no use for this Clock Tower, just like her, whom no one needed. Still, It stood proudly with It’s head held high and kept ticking away. It was not bothered by what others thought about It. It was not concerned if people had any use for It or not. It was not disheartened by Its dilapidated condition, with no one caring for It. It just kept living and breathing and telling time and chiming the bell. She felt the message It was conveying to her, to move forward in life despite all the hurdles and never worry about the societal norms. She had forged a connection with It, each of them alone and uncared for. While It stood tall, She was lost and confused. She felt the vibrations of the ringing bell passing through her as if giving her the strength to go on and never give up. She was full of admiration for this strong structure…the Clock Tower…

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[poohnotpiku]

Meri Jung

Aaj rabb se kuch maangne ki iccha si hui, jaise ek alhadd ziddi baccha maangta hai apne mata pita se….

Phir ehsas hua ki bachpan to hum kai barson picche chhodd aaye hain, us haque ko hum zindagi k pannon mein dafna aaye hain...

Na jaane phir bhi ek aakhri uddaan ki umeed si hai, par suljha hua budhapa, humare pankhon ko jakkadd k baitha hai….

Na jaane phir bhi aage badhne ki tyaari si hai, par is tarah se kadam ruke hue hain, jaise picche se kisi ne lohe ki salakhon se baandh rakha hai….

Ab kya hum udd payenge? Kya hum apni manzil ki taraf kadam badha payenge?

Na itni himmat hai ki aage badhte jayen…aur naa hi itni bebasi hai ki wahin tham k ruk jayen…

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[poohnotpiku]

The Marble Statue

It stood naked in the centre of a palazzo in a far away land. There were fountains all around It, with water sparkling in the cruel rays of the afternoon sun. There was a crowd of people looking at It keenly, making unreliable observations or clicking away pictures, which will be posted on social media, forwarded to others and then forgotten in the archives. There were a team of artists sitting under the shade of the surrounding mansion walls, with a paint brush in hand and spread of colours on the palettes lying on the ground. They kept stroking away the brush with one hand while stealthily looking at It from the corner of their eyes. There were children of all age groups running around the fountains, with not even a single glance at It. It stood alone in a proud poise, with a static cold expression. It was the lost centre of the palazzo, It was the Marble Statue.

She could visualize the artist using his tools to carve out the expressions on The Statue. Sweat dripping from his eyebrows onto the unfinished statue and getting absorbed in It’s layers. The months of hard-work resulting in a piece of art, which mesmerized each and every person laying eyes on It. She wondered what inspired the artist? Was there someone special whom he was imagining while carving out this masterpiece? Was the Statue echoing the silent rage of feelings of It’s maker? Was the artist trying to pass on some secret message in the wrinkles curved out on the marble face? What was The Statue saying?

She kept looking at The Statue with curious eyes. She wondered what was It thinking with that look of longing in It’s marble white eyes. Was It as alone as She felt in the crowd? Was It trying to look poised but had a turmoil of emotions hidden away, just like her? Did It covered layers of deep inner feelings masked behind her outer nakedness? She kept staring at It, looking for answers, trying to find a connection between the two of them.

As the sun was setting behind the horizon, its rays casted a shadow of The Statue on Her. At that very instant, she felt a deep connection with It. She could feel It’s loneliness. She could feel it’s rage at the maker, for leaving It behind in the world of strangers. She could feel It’s defeat in knowing that this was It’s past, present and future, to stand proudly in the sea of humans , who didn’t care for It. She could feel It’s helplessness like the pulse through her veins, because She couldn’t help It. But She could just stand beside It, even after the palazzo was an empty shell, in the darkness left behind by the tourists. She could touch It tenderly to indicate her support for It. She could whisper an ode of love to this beautiful piece of art, to The Marble Statue…

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[poohnotpiku]

The Library

Have you ever seen the greed in the eyes of a kid, on entering a candy store? Have you ever seen the wonder on the face of a chef, in the fresh fruits and vegetables aisle of a grocery store? Have you ever seen the determination on the face of an athlete, before the beginning of a competition? Have you ever seen the peace on the face of a priest, on entering the temple? These were some of the few examples to describe the look on her face and the rainbow of feelings gushing through her veins, when she entered the gates of The Library….

A Victorian-style dilapidated building, with whitewashed walls and solid iron gates, with rusting knobs and hinges, housed the Library. It wasn’t just any place but the centre of her universe. It was the sun to her earth, the earth to her moon. She loved this place beyond an extent, inexpressible in words. She has been frequenting this place since her childhood. Same old cracking wooden stairs connecting the two floors of the Library. Same old long glass windows, covering the entire rectangular area and allowing strained sunrays into the sanctorum. One could see the sparkling dust particles in the beam of sunrays as they landed on the wooden tables, sparkling the messages scribbled on them years ago. Same old tables and chairs, used by hundreds of students and booklovers over a hundred years now. Same old aisle with sturdy looking book shelves, housing books of today and of era long forgotten. Same old desk for the librarians, for their paperwork and to keep a watch on all, with sharp looking eyes. Same in so many aspects yet new to her every single time she visited.

She could see the people, sitting on the chairs. Some having piles of books in front of them for reference for some assignment, while some had just an old battered copy in their hands and seem to be totally engrossed and lost in their own worlds. She could see a nerdy looking girl enquiring the librarian about a book, which was of course either not available or restricted for access. She could see an old man, sitting on a corner table, with a game of chess spread out, playing against another old friend of his. She could see a mother reading out a poem to her kindergarten-level kid. She could see the past, the present and the future, all in one dusty frame.

She walked eagerly between the aisles, touching and feeling the books, hearing them telling her stories of the past. She felt herself being teleported from one era to another and to another and so on. She picked up a random book and leafed through it’s pages. She felt the fingers of the past, of the people who had turned these same pages like her. She could feel the twirled ends of the pages indicating years of being thumbed through. She could read between the lines, the stories of all those who had been reading those lines. She could see some notes scribbled away on the back cover by an enthusiastic reader. She could imagine the author of the book, writing away in a corner of a shady room, under a dimly lit lamp, unaware that years after he has died, his work will live long. She kept opening random books and feeling through them, as if She was looking for a secret message from the past.

She came out of the aisles, emotionally and physically exhausted. She knew she will return back again and continue her search for the unknown and the untold. This was the place, which felt like a home, away from home. This was the place, which never ceased to amaze her. This was the place, which gave her peace and helped her to refocus. This was her hideout, protecting her from the harshness of reality. This was Her Library….and Library of hundreds like her, in the past….

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[poohnotpiku]

Ek Dost

Kaun hota hai saccha dost?

Jo aapke besure geeton mein lutf uthaye, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapke waahiyat chutkulon pe bhi zor se hans de, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapke pehle pyaar se behki dhadkanon ko bhi mehsus kr le, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapke tootte dil ki awaaz tk ko sun le, wo hota hai dost..

Jo aapke unkahe dard ko smjhe, wo hota hai dost…

Jo 2 pyaali chai laake paas baith jaye bina kuch kahe, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapko ek daant lga de aapke ziddipan pe, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapke gusse ko bhi nazarandaz kr de, wo hota hai dost…

Jo maa k haath se bana khana aapke liye bhi le aaye, wo hota hai dost…

Jo gehri barsat mein apni chhatri mein aapko bhi jagah de de, wo hota hai dost…

Jo aapke liye dusron se bheed jaye, wo hota hai dost...

Jo parde hata kr aapko andhere se bahar nikal le, wo hota hai dost….

Par kahan milte hai aise dost, kise pata…

Jinhe mile hain aise dost, unko salaam…

Aisa ek dost paane ki chahat to hai…

Par aisa dost kisi k liye ban pana bhi inayat hai….

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[poohnotpiku]

The Mountain

After a long tiring hike, across meandering rocky terrain, She found herself at the base of the tall daunting legend. She was breathless but she could hear the shallow breaths of this Mountain, deep husky sounds echoing from hundreds of it’s crevices, bouncing across its nooks. It felt as if some message was being conveyed to her from the long forgotten, and may be prehistoric, era…

She looked around her and she could see a sheet of green on her one side, comprised of hundreds of trees, dotted with colors from flower-bearing shrubs. On the other side there was a vast blue sky on the ground level, a perfect reflection on the pure crystal-clear water of the lake. The lake was nested between the vast ranges of the Mountain, like tears held in the bowls of the eyes of a sufferer. She could visualize how the Mountain protected it’s realm from the cruel invaders and from the bone chilling winds blowing from the North.

She moved further towards the Mountain, the terrain became more rockier and harsher. It was as if the Mountain was deliberately trying to keep people away, as if its privacy was sacred and needed to be protected from the mere humans. Wasn’t She like this Mountain, always trying to keep those away, who loved her and cared for her? This thought made her feel close to the Mountain as She could now sense its loneliness like her own. She wanted to care for it, caress and whisper her love and support to it.

She kept moving forward the challenging path, until she found herself at the entrance of a cave, hidden behind thorny bushes. Yet another hurdle, but She was as adamant as this Mountain. She pushed the bushes aside with her arms, thorns piercing her soft skin but She didn’t stop until the entrance was clear. She entered the cave and found herself enveloped in a deep darkness. Slowly, her eyes got adjusted and she could see the cave walls and years of history reflected on their surface. She brushed her fingers on the walls and could hear the age-old stories being whispered to her. She had found the secret trapdoor to the entrance of the heart of this Beast and She could just feel real authentic beauty all around….She could see the Neanderthals sitting cosily around a bonfire, a lost tourist couple seeking shelter from the icy winds outside, a Mumma bear nestling her cubs, a line of ants moving busily towards God-only-knows target….all pictures from different centuries, merged into one frame, for her eyes only…

She kneeled down on the floor of the cave, touching her head to the silent chest of this Mountain, which appeared to be daunting but was actually a lonely soul looking after the flora and the fauna, the lake and the winds, the men and the women and the children who seek shelter. A Big Brother to all…Her Mountain….

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[poohnotpiku]

The Temple

It’s been years since She had last stepped into It’s compound. Nostalgia hits her hard. She can visualize her younger self, holding the hand of her mother and excitedly coming to this place, during every vacation. Crowd of devotees jostling against one another. Beggars asking for alms. Shopkeepers selling variety of offerings for Hindu rituals like flowers, sweets and other symbolic items of a married Hindu women like red saree, red bangles, red vermillion etc to be offered to the Diety. The river Ganges continued to flow peacefully while supporting the Temple on its banks. The city continued to expand around the Temple. The Temple stood tall with pride, even after years, attracting throngs of people daily.

The face of the place is uplifted with modernization but the vibes are still the same old authentic ones. The tomb of the building housing the sanctum sanctorum is painted with fresh colors of mustard and maroon. The compound walls are polished white and shiny. The floor and the pavements are still using the same old red stone, which gets heated up to scalding temperatures under the cruel rays of afternoon tropical sun. As a kid, She used to tiptoe on the burning floors on her naked feet. But today, as a grown-up, She was wearing socks! However the bubble of excitement in her heart was still the same.

On entering the sanctum sanctorum , She bowed her head in front of the divine power, waves of which, tickled her nerves. She felt being cocooned in the mystic aura. She looked into the face of the Deity and found herself lost in the vast hidden universe. All the noises and cacophony around her was forgotten and She found herself at peace…at peace with her own self, at peace with the Mother Goddess. She had planned to rant to the Mother and complain about all her troubles. However, one look into Her face, and all her troubles vanished with a poof! She realized that this Power knew about all her troubles and her hopes and her dreams and her struggles. There was nothing hidden from this Mother of hers. After ages, she felt she wasn’t alone in this journey. A Mother was always on the lookout for this daughter of Hers.

After offering her prayers, she came out and stood still in the center of the compound. She could hear the sounds of the evening aarti being offered by the priest. She could see the sun setting for the day, with darkness engulfing the surroundings. Her shadow was merged into the tall shadow of the tomb, as if She was a part of the magical realm. She could hear the water of the Ganges flowing on the other side. She could see the flock of birds returning to their nests in the big tree on the corner of the compound. She could see happy and satisfied faces all around. She felt the Divine Power pulsating through her soul. She realized wherever she goes, She will always carry the vibes of this place within her heart. She will carry the image of this Temple to the end of her journey.

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[poohnotpiku]

The Train

She stood on the platform, admiring the long-tailed serpent-like beast. To her mesmerized eyes, it looked like a powerful snake, with an engine as the head and it’s sleek body composed of lego-blocks like compartments, ready to slither away. The blast of the Engine horn sounded like an enticing beacon, which she couldn’t resist. Beaming with excitement for the journey ahead, She boarded The Train.

It has been years since she had last boarded a train. She remembers vaguely her childhood vacations which involved travelling to far-off cities on a train. Her nostalgia took her to the past…the hurried walk down the crowded platform, with her mother’s strong hold on her hand…her father running behind the coolie carrying their luggage. ….feeling crushed between sweaty bodies of elders, each in an unexplainable hurry….the shouts of the vendors selling tea and snacks….old ladies sitting on the platform while holding onto their unruly grandchildren, who were desperately trying to escape…muffled up announcements on the loudspeakers, which no one seem to be paying attention to….locating the bogie mapped to their tickets…getting up on the train with a scary gap between the platform and the compartment stairs….finding the allocated seats and finally settling down with a sigh of relief…

That 30-mins or so from getting down the cab at the railway station to being seated inside the compartment, were the most thrilling experiences of Her childhood days.

Weirdly, today, after decades Her grown-up eyes was seeing the same things in the same lens…She felt the same excitement like She felt as a kid…She felt crushed in the crowd…She felt the urgency of the people brushing past her…She could see the similar vendors and hear the same muffled announcements…..but there were some differences….there was no mother holding on to Her tightly so that She wasn’t lost in the crowd….there was no father guiding them through the crowd….this time She was alone…..This was Her Journey….Her Solo one….

She was now seated on a window-seat, her favourite one. She looked outside the window and could see people on the platform, jostling to find their compartments. A small boy screaming, with the nerves in his neck stretched to the max, and selling tea…She waved her hand through the window and stopped the boy to buy herself a kulhadd of tea….She paid-off the boy with some extra tip and sipped at the kulhadd…It was one of the best teas, after ages…

There was a family of a young couple and their 2 kids sitting opposite to Her….She could feel the excitement of the kids….They had already spread out a Ludo board on the seat and had the dices rolling away…The parents were still struggling to arrange their luggage under the seat and discussing the dinner plans…She could smell the pickle and paranthas in a tiffin-box being held by the mother of the kids….She assumed they were going on a vacation…..just like another family many years back….

There was a sudden jerk and the train started moving slowly…She felt her excitement bubbling through her veins…The crowd on the platform started moving like molecules in a gas chamber….Slowly the train gained pace and her pulse-rate started rising proportionally…..She could see the platform passing by and slowly the train was out in the open….She felt the cool breeze blowing past her….She felt the scene outside moving, as if someone had hard-pressed a fast-forward button on the remote control….She was proud of this friend of Hers who carried the weight of so many people’s dreams and yet held it’s head high….She felt the freedom of the train, as it slithered away….She felt equally free….A new phase of Her Journey had begun….But She wasn’t alone in this journey…She was with her long lost friend…Her Train….

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[poohnotpiku]

The Lighthouse

She was walking on the beach, feeling the fine sand grains and small shells crunching under her feet. It was a hot summer afternoon but somehow the hot sand felt soothing. She could hear the sea-waves from afar and see them crashing onto the beach, dumping away all the unwanted stuff back to their source. She could see the sun getting ready to head back home and leaving behind a beautiful evening sky.

Her eyes caught a movement in the horizon. It was a boat with a person on it, who was trying to control the boat while giant waves kept pushing it back. She felt scared for the boatman and wondered who would guide him when the sun is set and darkness engulfs all the surroundings. Her empathetic nature felt the fear, perhaps more than the boatman himself. Her logical mind told her that there was no risk, but still she couldn’t care less.

Suddenly her eyes darted to her right. There stood a tall dilapidated structure, looking lonely and ignored. She felt the structure calling her and she gravitated towards her. As she approached the tall structure, she could see years of ignorance on the outer walls with chipped paint, cobwebs spread across, wild plants and shrubs covering her base. She found a wooden door barely hanging on it’s hinges. She pushed open the door and found herself in the landing, with a rusted staircase leading to the womb. With careful steps she started ascending the stairs, each stair making a cracking sound, as if it would give away anytime soon.

As she was ascending she could hear the structure’s shallow breathing, whispering to her unheard stories of the past. She could hear the structure remembering the good old days. She could hear her sobbing when remembering the stormy days. Instead of feeling scared, she felt secured, like in the company of a long lost friend. She could feel the spirits of the lightkeepers brushing past her. She found old unkempt bedroom of the lightkeepers, with broken jugs and mugs on a table, open doors of empty cupboards, rats running on the planked floors. She reached the top of the structure and stood on the gallery. She could see the sea water far into the horizon on one side, trees and human habitation far into the opposite side, with sandy beach and rocky terrain right at the bottom. She looked up and could see the empty lantern pane where once would have been a strong beamed lantern, guiding the lost souls in the sea, bringing them back home safely.

Today no one needed this poor structure, no one cared for her. The structure was left all alone with no purpose giving her the needed fulfilment, no one to share her thoughts with, no one to hear her stories. But the structure had found a new friend after ages.

On the other hand, She had found a beacon of light in the darkness of her life. She whispered back to the structure her stories, her thoughts and her fears which she had no one to share with. Both the friends spent hours talking and laughing and crying. Evening turned to night and night to dawn, but they didn’t stop. Both were lost in their own world, cocooned in their own sweet bubble. It was the revival of an age old friendship between…She and Her Lighthouse….

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