I watched her stop and stare
While mother kept walking, unaware
She jumped and grabbed
From the rooftop of a silent car
A fallen flower
She ran with that burden
T’was her school bag
And presented the dying blossom
To her mother
Just for a smile in return
And something in my heart
That had died
Was flogged to life
Ah, I wished to be a child again!
God, when you chiseled a raindrop,
How did you think of a stem,
Bearing a lovely satin leaf
To hold the tiny gem?
How did you know a million drops
Would deck the morning’s hem?
Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
But did anyone ever care
To look at the sun?
When it bursts in the sky
The morning star fades
The sun prepares to ignite
The horizon breaks
A thin orange slice
Like a newly bloomed daisy
Will burst to life
And light the way for all alike.
It rises and sets everyday
Travelling the world in a spin
Sometimes angry, smug sometimes
A little too bright or a little too dim.
Not just a ball of fire
Not just a source of light
The sun, my friends,
Supports all life
And in the evening again
It’s the masterpiece of the sky
It takes leave in style
A beauty none can deny
Miracles are rare
That’s what people say
Well, look at the sun
Didn’t it make your day?
So when the sun comes up
How will you greet it?
“As the sea swallowed the sun once more, a tear fell from her eye and dissolved into the sand beneath us.
“What is it, why the tears?”, I asked
and with a smile that nearly leaped across her cheeks,
she answered: “Here comes the moon.”
I knew that moment that it is and always will be the simple things that plant the most phenomenal truths inside us.”
– Christopher Poindexter
“Beti” means daughter in Hindi. My uncle and aunt got this beautiful cake for us a few weeks ago.
Letting the daughters of the family feel special and loved without any occasion is such a beautiful idea.
I believe we do not need a particular day to make our loved ones feel special… but still, a very happy women’s day to all the women out there!
The sun rose and knocked,
We left for a morning walk
I saw a squirrel on a tree,
Swear it stopped and smiled at me.
The songs of birds at first light,
The freshness of the day,
The shadows of the early sunrise,
And the clean, crisp air
There is so much to see
The flowers, the birds, the honeybee
The grass under my feet
All of those await me.
But I stay and gaze
At the scurrying squirrel
And his faithful friends
Observing their eccentric ways
One makes a funny noise,
I laugh aloud, it runs away
They go round n round
Scuttle to and fro
Aimlessly digging holes in the ground
When everything else fails,
They chase their very own tails!
That is what they do,
Just like me and you
They save for winter
But never forgets how,
To live for the moment,
To enjoy the now
And that’s how squirrels are clever,
Than humans can be ever!
Even Starbucks knows all about me! 😀
There was a time when I never used to let the sun catch me asleep.
The morning sunshine, the koel’s song or even the rooster’s crowing had a calming effect.
Just let the sun’s first rays adorn your face and brighten your day!
Then I grew out of the habit. Because, life.
After many months, I felt the magic of sunrise again.
The beauty of nature, the tranquility of mornings, is inexpressibly blissful.
You are the books you read,
The people you meet.
The dreams you make,
The words you speak.
And you are, what you take from these.
Let the colors fill your mind
Carry your own sunshine
Live the truth,
Express your love,
Do more, need less,
Laugh a lot and be blessed.
See the wonder of it all,
Marvel at the sight,
Share the happiness,
Celebrate the life.
Dream big, but never be,
In too much hurry,
To stop and smell… to feel… to touch or to see.
So celebrate what has been given,
The tiny bit of heaven!
The other day, I was randomly reading my own blog posts ( pretty conceited, eh? I know! 😛 ) But then, that’s how I realised that I have never, never ever, proclaimed my love for Calvin and Hobbes on this blog!
I have been a huge fan of the strip for so long now, that I know that if I ever meet Bill Watterson, I would definitely hug him – while shrieking uncontrollably with joy,of course – and thank him for bringing so much of laughter and delight and wisdom in so many lives.
Thanks Thanks Thanks Thanks! 😀
This is the first set (read: remains) of colors that I owned. I remember it came as a free gift with Bournvita. 😛
So yea, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that Batman (and the Ninja Turtles ) has always been in my blood art. 😀
Numaish Masnuaat-e-Mulki or Numaish also known as Exhibition is an annual consumer exhibition held in Hyderabad, Telangana, India.The exhibition has remained the only event of its kind in the world to be organised at a stretch for a 46-day period at its 23-acre permanent venue in Nampally.
It features joy rides, eateries and other entertainment options for the visitors.
The exhibition does not only ground for big traders but small vendors of toys and flowers makes a decent business during the fare.
Ethnic goods on sale.
With all the colours and taste inside one boundary it stands out to be a perfect example of a successful free market business.
From Kashmir to Kerala, from lucknow to calcutta there are stalls varying from crockery to garments
You would find almost everything here!
Shiny specs 😛
Shawls, dresses,saris, Chikankari, Lucknowi.
Some 350 stalls are run by people from Kash-mir, another 400 from UP and 250 from Bihar.
Real Kashmiri dry fruits.
The Chocolate Fountain!
Who doesn’t love popcorn?
The Giant Wheel
View from the Wheel.
The Joy ride – Train. 😀
The Well of Death a.k.a Maut ka Kua!
Daredevils perform breathtaking skills in the well of death at Numaish.
Numaish, an industrial exhibition held up for almost 46 days and homing around 2000 stalls is the pride of Hyderabad city.
I’m a loquacious person by nature. My mouth rarely takes a holiday. But I often fall into the arms of silence when I travel or commute.
Silent, because I’m quieted by that which meets my eyes.
The smile on the face of the child that fell asleep in its mother’s arms.
The couple walking hand in hand in the cold winter night.
The two friends laughing over coffee in the café.
The family of five on a single bike.
The young kid crying for the biggest balloon.
The smell of freshly fried samosas.
Children playing hopscotch in one lane and galli cricket in the other.
The man on the cycle selling cotton candy and kulfi.
Cows and buffaloes crossing the road slowly, very slowly.
Hymns from the temples.
People eating Golgappas.
The crowd that had formed outside the T.V store to watch the cricket match for free.
Rangoli outside houses.
Men pissing on the street. (In my country,kissing on the road is punishable but pissing on the road is allowed!)
Street side salons.
And then, as I stop at the red light, the march of the destitute begin.
The old lady bent double with age.
The man with the crutches.
The little boy with charred hands.
The little girl, selling flowers cheaper than ever.
The old man who says he hadn’t eaten anything since three days.
The light goes green and I move on.
The world changes.
The dark truth meets the eyes. The smile slowly fades.
People sleeping on the pavements, in the cold night. They sleep there season after season, never properly covered.
I wonder how many of them had slept without food.
The drunkard walking home. What problems might he have?
The children making street corners their beds. Would they ever know the comfort of a bed?
The woman scouting the garbage bin for something that she could use. What would she give her children in breakfast?
The old man parking his vegetable wagon at the corner of the road. Did he earn enough to feed his family?
The little huts, which had plastic sheets for roofing. What do those people do during cold nights?
The leper still begging on the street. Did his family abandon him because of the disease?
The young boy, was he a runaway?
The single tear that ran out was not of sympathy or of pain. It was in gratitude.
Gratitude for everything I have been blessed with.
Isn’t it a blessing? Properly functioning body parts, a presentable face, no fatal disease, three times food, a house to live in and clothes to wear.
If this doesn’t make you feel blessed, and you do not feel a responsibility for the less blessed ones, then, somewhere in you humanity has died.
This was one of my favourite sights during childhood. 🙂 Remember those childhood memories when you went to a fair or a carnival and saw this bag with fluffy pink gigantic cotton on a stick? Remember how you pulled a piece and popped it in your mouth and it immediately melted? Dissolved! Disappeared! Soft clouds that you could eat! Rainbow colours! And you wanted more but your parents refused. Oh cotton candy, I still love you! 🙂
Moving through clouds
It often plays hide and seek
Offering to be the perfect muse
No one really listens to what it shrieks.
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“The stone rolled aside and I was born again.”
Memories have become vague.
But I remember lying in bed, scared. On a hot summer day, covered in sheets, I waited for sleep – the only reprieve for my dying soul. I pulled the sheets over my head and tried hard to hold back the tears that fought wildly.
What happened? Why the betrayal?
Strange cruel people in my dream repeated these questions. They cudgeled me with it and I couldn’t find an answer.
It was the moment in life when every breath you take hurts. The darkness around me screamed. In the land of grief, once again, I began to cry.
And then I heard the noise. It started soft but then slowly, as if to remind me of my grief, it turned violent.
My fingers closed into fists and my nails dug into my palm. I wished that it would all stop – the screaming in my head, the heavy pattering of rain and my heart.
But it didn’t.
Sleep continued to play coy and finally not able to endure it any longer; I pulled the sheets aside, swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat with my head in my hands. The noise of the downpour was louder than ever. It wasn’t just raining, it was pouring.
For a reason I can’t remember, I stood up and walked stealthily to the terrace. I stood at the centre, allowing the raindrops to hit my face; to hide the tears. The last two weeks had been horrible. Perhaps I wished that the rain would cleanse me of the pain. Or perhaps I just wished it would drown me.
But the longer I stood there – with my eyes closed, hands still curled into fists – miraculously, the pain started to wane and the pricking of the raindrops started to feel sickly sweet.
I had never enjoyed rain until then, not in that way. I had danced in the rain with friends, walked in the rain, but never alone.
That sunny evening marked my friendship with Her.
Slowly my fists loosened and finally uncurled. But my eyes remained shut. “No,” said my mind. “The pain will return.”
“Let go,” whispered my heart.
“You will die!” argued my mind.
“You already have died,” said my heart, “It’s time to be born again.”
Once more I do not know why I paid heed to the heart that had caused me so much pain. But I opened my eyes. What I saw awed me and it filled me with pain but unlike the previous one this pain was sweet, very sweet.
She kissed me and welcomed me to this new world while I simply stared and continued to be awed. What I saw spread a warmth through my body and gradually for the first time in days, my lips curled into a smile.
I stood there for a long time, getting drenched, embracing the beautiful sight.
Nature became my best friend; and that’s how I was born again.