Jan Gan Man ki Baat

The Supreme Court has asked all cinemas to play the national anthem before a film is screened. This may have become a national debate now but our National Anthem nudges me every morning at the most inappropriate hour. There is a school near my house. Their morning assembly ends with ‘Jan gan man’ which coincides with the time when I’m shampooing my hair and my head and face is covered with foam or when I’m talking to someone over the phone.I can’t be against the lovely ritual of singing the anthem in school assemblies, but the loudspeaker.

A teacher’s day at work begins with the national anthem. I have come across lovely things related to it. Most of the times we have to tell the little ones not to close their eyes while singing. And oh my, you should listen to a kindergarden child singing it. An eight year old NRI student of mine was astonished to see that everyone knew and sang the National Anthem so well in the school. In the US, he said that nobody knows their anthem after a line or two.

When there is s a big discussion going on about respecting our national anthem, I think of the gardener who I saw standing up straight while weeding the flower beds, as soon as students started singing Jan gan man. I went to him and appreciated him for his gesture and humiliated an SIS guard for fidgeting and being indifferent throughout.
In my city they already play National Anthem in cinema halls. I witnessed it before watching Pink in a theatre, when I was expecting "Vicco Turmeric, nahi cosmetic" ad. There is a mood for everything. I love my country, but movies and National Anthem do not match. National Anthem is too pious to be related to something we do leisurely.

Kedar Camp, Time to Stand and Stare.

The group I chose to be a part of for my Kedarnath trip was comprised of six people from Switzerland, Denmark, Russia and Germany. Agastya and Anna (Savitri),  Ami and Anja aka Shyamala, and Matte. They were into Yoga and Hinduism which brought me closer to them. The itinerary had names of the places unknown to me and I resisted the google search of the places as I didn't want to miss the element of surprise.

Our base,  Kedar Camp, Guptkashi, was my home for  seven days. We climbed many mountains, but by  evening came back to the camp for sumptuous food, stories around the fire place, cosy tents with hot water bottles tucked under the blankets and relaxing hot water bath. Next morning we used to be ready for another peak, lake or a lake on the peak. The homely warmth of the place made me realise that before making a house one has to plan and before making such a camp one has to dream.

my tent

Six hours bus journey from Rishikesh ended when I climbed the stone steps which lead me to the camp where I was offered homemade rose drink. The row of tents faced the mighty peaks of Greater Himalayas. Variety of flowers added to the beauty of the place. Lovely collection of roses, passion flower, queen of the night and so many.

Passion Flower

The tent  with mosquito repellents, switchboards to charge the mobiles n laptops was a delight.The biggest relief was the wash room.

later I saw a slide show of the pics of  more than  hundred types  of birds that visit the camp during different seasons of the year. Some of them come back for their yearly visit.There are a few wild berries n fruit trees purposely planted to lure them. Some come in flocks like parrots and others just two of them year after year. The few names I remember are seba, babbler, fench, red bellied bulbul, hupoo, yellow crested woodpecker, plum headed parrot, sunbird and munia. During my morning walk I could also spot a pair of pheasants. I also realised how difficult it is to take bird pics.

Pic: Agastya Seikritt 

Like the kitchen at home dining hall proved to be the heart of the camp, Food was not spicy and  tasty enough to make us overeat. I, a homemaker envied the chef who never repeated a thing throughout our stay. I also wondered how those European fellows never missed their staple food at all. I could only hear them sigh, Wow, I like it, yummy.. From pickles, salads, daals, vegetables, sweet dishes, we loved it all. Porridge, Dalia  topped with mountain honey was a big hit with everyone. Honey reminds me this beehive  which could be seen from the dining hall.

beehive

Like we Indians are particular about our chai, my companions were about their coffee. A coffee maker was taken out and different types of coffees were made which were not in the menu, but our host made sure each one gets what he wants. He wanted us to be happy. I, a pahari got ghee  for my khichri and gur, jaggery to be eaten in the end, on the table. Isn't it amazing?

breakfast

The  adorable fire place in the corner used to be our adda after dinner. Agystya told a kissa about how he was separated from his friends at Gomukh during a storm and heavy snowfall. There appeared a sadhu who gave him shelter and food. As things became normal the sadhu was nowhere to be seen. Years later he saw the same sadhu at Varanasi, but only for a while. He vanished again. Goosebumps!

Add caption

Our host also told us about his regular clients, they call them guests. Most of them become good friends. Victor Banerjee and the Serbian director Goran Paskaljevic also stayed in the camp for a month for the shooting of a film ' Devbhoomi'
http://tinyurl.com/zkqantt

One more group came to the camp a day before we were leaving. A swamiji with a few of his disciples. Swamiji brought a garland of colourful flowers for Shalendra, our host. He did make him wear it. This is the relationship he shares with his guests. Most of the ppl in the party had been there before. One of the girls, from Belgium saw our group leader and sprang up shouting his name Majojjjj!! and hugged him. She came to India a few years back and might have been in his tour group. Savitri, from Russia also told me, "Manoj is an angel." I was so proud of these entrepreneurs  who treat these tourists/ guests so well that they remember them forever."

I heard Shalendra refusing an another group over the phone saying the camp is full. I could see that there were a couple of tents lying vacant. I asked the reason and his answer left me speechless.He said,"These many people are enjoying. I'm easily providing them what they want. Quality of service should not suffer." He wanted to give happiness to his guests.They should remember this place. Memories made and lives enriched, that is what he wanted.

The beauty of doing one's work sincerely is that people remember you, they do. This is what I'm doing past midnight, thinking of Kedar Camp, smiling and reliving those happy moments.

हम तो झोला उठा के चले,

Husband gave me a look of, "Simran,ja ji le apni zindagi" when my train chugged towards Dehradun and he took a flight to Chennai. I chose mountains to beaches. Spouses should give space to each other, literally!

Invoking my muses Mridula, Shivya nath and Writer's Block and many others I broke an imagenary coconut and unplanned my trip. I have decided to take things as they come. I had to go to Uttarkashi, but how, when and duration of the stay was not decided. Even return tickets were not booked.

Dehradun is home which does not recognise me now. Roads are better but Lichi orchards and canal are missing. Visited my college, met a dear friend who is teaching there and roamed about the Pultan Bazar, Astley Hall nand Rajpur Road, places Ruskin Bond mentioned in his award winning novel.

Travelling in mountains is a nightmare for those who suffer from motion sickness. My Uttarkashi trips are enjoyable, thanks to the good roads and the car my brother arranges for me. But he looked at me disdainfully when I asked him to drop me at the trekker (an 8 seater vehicle) stand. During the ride I got to hear Garhwali songs which I didn't like at all. I wished he had played the ones I love. I begged  the driver to play Kishor Kumar or Asha songs, but no luck. I enjoyed half of the journey, had tea, but after that the sickness began. I regretted for not listening to bro. Looking at the brighter side I thought that no dashing young man would have offered me a toffee if I were travelling and puking alone in a swanky car.

Mountain air cured me immediately when I got down at my stop. I crossed a bridge over the Ganges (Gangaji, this is how my people call her), walked a km with my backpack to reach home. 

Hiring a cab and going somewhere was the only way, only if I could have a local guy or a girl for the company. I thought of the travel writers/ bloggers who paint an alluring  picture of a place, garnish it with engaging anecdotes. It was intriguing that how they get right people in the remotest places who take them around. I could only pray to God, specially Shiva who was not away from me even for a second while I was loitering in the market. He was on the signboards, temples, names of the institutions, on the cars windscreen and behind the trucks. He has fulfilled my silly and na-jayaz wishes then this one was at least sane.I reached home and got a call from a relative that he is going to Harsil for a day for his official work and I could accompany him If I wanted.

Getting to travel with locals is a boon. The tone and topics of conversation added a flavour to the trip. On the way to Harsil I witnessed innumerable waterfalls.The scenery was breathtaking even for me, a pahari.

I landed at a training centre for gals. The expensive woollen shawls we buy from the swanky showrooms were being made here in the cold and dark room. On the way I walked through a steep trail. I didn't even bring my shoes. I stood on a large clearing. It was a helipad, which was used during the great cloudburst at kedarnath to bring the people to safer places.

 I was given an hour or two to explore and enjoy while my godsent relative finished his meetings. I was told to go straight and cross a couple of bridges and I would reach the market place. I again looked for someone to accompany me. I was chided that the distance is not much. what if there are some wild animals on the way. But I met only pretty local girls and handsome army guys who happily clicked pics for me.

I passed by the Wilson Cottage and Bridge. Pahari Wilson, who married a local lass, had brought apples to Harsil. Walked for a while and I was at the quietest market I have ever seen. Two-three hotels, a general merchant plus woollen shop, a bank with an ATM that was all. A cemented pathway

lead me to the orchards full of green and red apples. I walked further and there were lovely neat and clean pathway and houses. At the diversion stood a post-office. Later I was told that this post-office was there in the movie which made Harsil famous. I turned back and to the market and looked around for an eatery. Had momos at a lil restaurant with local girls and boys. A boy was ready to be my guide and take me to a 3km walk upto Mukhba. I was told there were meadows and the famous waterfall under which pretty Mandakini bathed in the movie. But lo, the car was waiting for me for the return journey.

                                                  

On the way back a co-passenger, who was known to my host took me to a village which had 2-3 scattered houses among the apple orchards. I met a family who lived in a typical pahari house. One of the daughters had a very different accent.I got curious and she told me that she got married to a guy from Haryana six years back. Many other girls from this area are married off like her. Had heard about the sex ratio going bad to worse in Haryana, but saw that they have to come so far to look for a bride. I felt relieved when she told me that she is happy. She took me around an orchard which was sold to a contractor. My craving for plucking an apple was ignited, but she told me contractors always keep an eye. The apples have become forbidden now! But she did pluck and gave me one.

Nachiketa Taal  

Chaurangi khal is 30 km away from Uttarkaashi.  3 km uphill walk took us to Nachikta taal. The cab driver and his pretty wife proved to be an excellent company.

While climbing a lovely trail I found blood on my toes and thong slippers. There were tiny leeches which were swollen a bit after sucking my blood. after a while they vanished. It took an hour to reach the top. And when I looked down there was a big lake. It was a lovely site, but I found it a bit overrated. The fish in the lake entertained us . A sadhu lives there in a tent throughout the year. He was chatting with the forest guards. Before going we offered him some fruits and money which he refused politely. I thought of the Pundas  of Sangam at Allahabad and Pushkar who almost snatched my wallet.

September was never so cool before.

Abuses in the Air

A homesick friend of mine who grew up in Kanpur, but settled in another corner of India jokingily told me that how he felt at home while talking to his brother over the phone. No, it was not due to affection but the expletives he could overhear while his brother talked and walked through a crowded street.The 'orators' who blurted gaalies in their usual chatting  were from rickshaw pullers to students to govt employees. I'm taking my city as a sample, but most of the cities of the North Indian are eligible. Abuses are mostly targeted at female relatives of the receiver.

In the movie Jab We Met, Kareena Geet Kapoor vents out  her anger and pain  while she scolds and curses her tormentor over the phone.  finally, at the height of her rage, she gains super salvation when  she utters an abuse indicating his mother. Indo-Pak cricket matches witness exchange of abuses between most admired players. Don't know how their moms n sisters feel watching them mentioned in this way, live!  One evening I heard a group of people shouting in unison. First I thought that Ganesh Puja is round the corner and some chanting is going on, till a man in uniform told me to take a U turn as there is an altercation( using a mild word)  going on between two groups. No, they were not illiterate youth from the two religions but college going kids. Blurting what they have learnt outside the classroom. Swear words often help in venting the anger out, this is the only way to justify this practice. But using these words as adjective and conjunction cause disgust.

 I was buying fruits at the local market when a boy stopped his motorcycle near me and gestured  an another boy to sit pillion.The moment he tried to sit, the bike moved a bit and he stumbled and casually said the common curse related to mother.Whom did he address? He addressed the motorcycle!!

Some years ago a colleague was looking for a house to buy in the city. Everyday she used to update us about her search. Finally they zeroed on a particular flat but then did not buy it. "So, why did u reject that flat?" We all asked curiously. Instead of feeling bad about it she couldn't stop laughing and could barely reproduce what her businessman hubby had said, "Flat to accha hai per #$% toilet bahut chota hai." The flat is fine but #$% toilet is very small. This was the height of personification.

Living here in Manchester of East, I am sure that all the abuses men hurl on living/non things are harmless and should not be taken literally. I, who hate this Gaali culture couldn't suppress my laughter when at the Apple customer care centre, a man who looked well to do, was arguing to replace the charger of his phone. It seemed that he had to come to the centre more than twice and he was asked to come again after two days.  Looking at the other customers to gain support, he fumed ,
" **** this is the state of things here." So, not only inanimate things but circumstances can also be cursed.

As a teacher of nine year olds, I talk to my little girls about 'good and bad touch' and to be very careful in this big, bad world. And when boys, my little heros are around I urge them to respect women and not to use these curse words when they grow up. I hope they would obey their teacher the way they do now.

Radcliffe, The Line that Separates/unites Two Countries

Radcliffe Line that divides India and Pakistan will be 69 this August. Cyril  Radcliffe who drew the line had never visited India before he was assigned the monumental task. Thanks to the hot and humid weather of India that he left as soon his work got over, leaving the two countries living the paradox of loving and hating each other. At Wagah the paradox begins with the aggressive boot thumping by the soldiers and then shaking hands.

Lowering of the Flags ceremony is a daily custom at Wagah border. BSF, (the Border Security Force) of India and Pakistan Rangers of Pakistan present the spectacular show. Surprisingly I did not know the magnanimity of the show so, Wagah border was never in my bucket list, the Golden Temple was. But the parade and ambiance of the place made me see it as a Kumbh mela where collective faith of masses is at its peak. I had never imagined such devotion and love for Bharat mata  without an Indo-Pak  cricket match being played.

The broad passage reserved for parade gets converted  into a large stage. The oxymorons continued when audiences performed with full gusto. Our clothing tells the faith we follow, so I see the people from all the faiths  drenched in the colour of patriotism as well as in the sweat of hot and humid month of May, dancing, laughing, enjoying. I hated myself for having two left feet, but I did what I knew. I whistled loudly like no one was watching.

Partition took place mainly because  Quaid-e-Azam Jinnah thought Muslims needed a separate country. Before 1940 it was not even imagined that such a thing could happen. I could only guess by reading the literature of united India. Can you doubt the true friendship between Jumman Sheikh and Algoo Chaudhary depicted in premchand's famous story 'Panch Parmeshwar' ? Religion was the main cause of the partition, and religion was the only thing I did not see separating us when I sat at Wagah. 

The popular song from the film Veer-Zaara, was playing when husband and I entered the place which looked like an open air theatre. The songs usually played there are, Aisa desh hai mera is written by Javed Akthar, Ye desh hai veer Jawanon ka, penned by Sahir Ludhianvi, sung by our beloved Mohammad Rafi and in the movie performed by Dilip Yusuf Kumar. 

The place I was sitting was not allowing me to see the audience on the other side of the line. It was clear that attendance was thin. A lone small boy was running around waving the Pak flag. The mood was rather formal. I wondered if there was a lady sitting there who was also a school teacher like me. If we could talk or there could be a souvenir  shop, a restaurant where we could taste cuisines from both the countries.We are so similar, but the conflicting thoughts at the back of my mind refused to budge and reminded me all that their army  did to our Lt. Saurabh Kalia in captivity for over twenty two days. Could I see an enemy in the woman sitting that side? No!

I could hardly listen to the music being played across the line, but a journalist friend who watched the parade a few days back had told me that they played  songs sung by Mika! A singer popular among the younger generation of Indians. he also came back humming 'Pakistan, Pakistan' by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, who is loved by old n young in India. Indian media's love for Pak is not hidden from the whole world and how I adore the videos from Pakistan praising our Prime Minister and the adorable accent they call him Modi sa'ab with.

I grew up cheering India, but the biggest poster in my room belonged to Imran Khan. I hate mom watching some of the never ending serials on Indian TV channels,  but love to watch Zindagi Gulzar Hai with her on youtube for hours. It has a  strong female protagonist. I still remember her dialogue, "Zindagi main kitne log hote hain jo hum per garm chai nahi girne dete?"The male lead is  Fawad Khan, well a separate post is needed to describe his aura.

Even a small child can tell who is the culprit for the mess and war created between the two countries. He is definitely neither I nor the lady sitting on the other side of the gate at the wagah border,who would love to visit Mumbai or Delhi during her next vacations, if given chance and peaceful circumstances. I too would love to visit the Swat valley, Malala Yousafzai  talks so fondly about.

It is said that after the dark night comes the sparkling sunrise. Thinking about the dashing and brilliant boys sacrificing their precious lives in the continuous war between two countries, hoping against the hope I pray for peace.

Jai Hind, Sir !

The word 'Police' for me is a place where I grew up. All the windows of my house opened to the majestic building of Police Headquarter of Uttar Pradesh. My memories include manicured lawns, clubs, festivals, tamarind trees, mango orchards and everything pleasant. Neighbours lived cordially as a big family. Nobody was filthy rich as the department is known for bribe n black money.

My father was in civil police, so he never wore a uniform. As an auditor, sometimes he worked whole night in his office with his colleagues. More than half a month he used to be on tours within Uttar Pradesh of some remote part of India. I went to a Mission school but not to one of the schools, Allahabad is known for. Even at that tender age I knew those schools were expensive for us. I saw my parents working very hard. The affluence associated with people working in police department was not there. Contrary to the image of a policewale, father was a teetotaller. Back from his tours he used to tell us hilarious anecdotes. Never ever I heard him mentioning his boss without respect. Even while talking with his friends casually he never forgot to put the suffix, like DIG Sa'ab.

As I grew up I heard stories of police atrocities and corruption, though Hindi films had always projected good picture of policemen. Sholay was a luminous example. I Left PHQ as father got a promotion and transferred to some other department and another city. After that I never heard anything good about the Police. Police ke kutte was the most repeated refrain I heard in day to day life, still my emotional bond with policemen remain intact. Even after three decades I give them a second look wherever I see them. Be it a traffic policeman at a crossing of Chennai in scorching heat, groups of policemen patrolling the crowded streets of Varanasi, at Modi's 2014 rally at Kanpur, Siddhivinayak temple in Mumbai, posh areas of South Delhi, I always spot them.

When you listen to their stories, you would know that the number of policemen die on duty in a year is equal to the number of army men died in the Kargil War. Do we ever make memorials for them? Do we know that policemen never celebrate Holi and other festivals as they have to be on duty. Today there is peace in Panjab at what cost? The link below is a part of a Kavi sammelan where Mr Pawan Jain, IPS presents a poem about the lives of his fellow policemen which is an eye opener indeed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGL (Poetry by Pawan Jain IPS)

Mother's Day Musings

When FB was bursting at the seams with mom pics and quotations on 8th May, I too got tempted to post mom's pic clicked when she was sixteen, with her very long tresses and manicured hands. Though I always saw her with not so long hair and hands, well the way hands look after a long day's chores. I didn't wish mom nor my kids wished me. Wondered if I love them less than others love their moms and kids?

 When I went to see off my parents at the CNB, we bought a few books from the wheeler at the platform, I clicked some pics of the spic n span railway station, touched their feet habitually and drove back. Back home read someone's status that her mother who was visiting her has left and her life is 'deserted' now. There were more than 100 likes n comments from the people who related to it. This is how FB fuels my guilt. But I have my moments when I feel like hugging my mom or kids really tight.

This winter when she visited me I told her that I had to attend a wedding but didn't want to because the host  had  sort of annoyed me for some reason. It may or may not be intentional. Mother chose a lovely saari for me from my limited collection and almost pushed me off saying that wedding at home is a huge task, some lil goof ups are normal.  Looking back I realised that she had quietly taught me so many things without being preachy and by just remaining in the background.

My son (the one with long hair!!) also amazes me sometimes. During his JEE preparation days and just before 12th boards, when every minute counts, he had to collect his admit card from school.The teacher concerned had refused to give the card because the computer teacher had not sent his home exam grades and had left the school. The next day again he went and somehow got his admit card. I was irritated, obviously.

They have their exams centre in some other school and as a convention some teachers also come to see the arrangements and say all the best to their students. Children usually touch their feet before entering the examination hall. I asked him when he came back. "Did you touch her feet?" I loved him so much for the answer he gave, "Yes, arre kya ferk parta hai, teacher hi to hain" (how does it make any difference, she is a teacher after all)

These little moments together make my Mother's Day, just we celebrate it differently.

The Stalker

Stared, gazed and then hid,
He stopped and walked as I did.
Teasing, stalker moon!

Pic: Mamatha

Betrayal

When I asked my daughter, studying in Delhi, to visit a good friend of mine during Holi, she fumed in mock anger, "Those Aaptards!" Conversation ends.
Today we Indians are divided into two main categories. Modi can easily represent the one and the other is congress, Aap, CPM etc. I have clubbed the rest in one because Modi is their common enemy.
Before I knew a strange trend/ideology came up. 'Anti India' - any thing which is directly associated with India is condemned by some people. Hinduism is the main target.The other Indian religion, cricket has also got affected. I was at my wit's end when I read about anti India slogans shouted at JNU. Anti Hindu is still ok in the garb of 'freedom of expression', but Anti India?
Coming to the title of my post, see the series of betrayals I, an average Indian had to face. Betrayal by very definition means when you are cheated by someone you trusted. JNU, IITs, IIMs were awe inspiring or beyond my reach institutions. In that campus I got to hear obnoxious things about Bharat Mata/ India. Now I will have to tell them that Bharat Mata is not a woman sitting on a lion etc etc but just a symbol that we love our country as we love our mother.
Media. Going back to Doordarshan days I remember relying on newsreaders for the correct pronunciation of certain words. Watching News just to observe the newsreaders. All the ladies were awesome. Then there was 'The World This Week'. An NDTV product, which we never used to miss. Believed each word it aired. Today the same NDTV and rest of the media is biased. I seldom get to watch achievements of government on TV or newspapers.

Nobody can be closer to your heart than your favourite writers/columnists. As he/she shares his secrets and passions while he bares his heart in his books. We relate to what we read and the one-sided affair begins. I too followed a few columns. Today when I share those columns with some of my friends who believe in Modi's hard work and Piyush Goyal's crusade against darkness, they don't even open the link. The moment the name of the newspapers appear they delete it. I fight and shield my dear columnists in vain. But my admiration got thrashed when I read abt the JNU chanting in a hypothetical statement in ‘The Hindu’ that if Modi wins 2019 election 'anti national' would not be able to survive in India and would create a new nation to live. What sinful thinking! I too don't run around streets shouting 'Bharat mata ki Jai' but why scream in your fb status that you would never say this slogan. I wonder if we thought alike about Kishore Kumar, RDB, Sholay, and thousand other things then why can’t they see any development in railway, power and coal, road transport and other ministries? The same ‘The Hindu’ we subscribed, far away in the North while preparing for Civil Services, with hope and dreams in our eyes.

Meet Shashi Tharoor. I almost prayed for him, a fellow Indian, but he lost the topmost post of the UN. We all felt bad.The same Tharoor was speaking at JNU. He mentioned Bhagat Singh and took a pause and the whole crowd laughed mockingly. I was in tears.

I never imagined that a large number of people will be unhappy when India wins a cricket match. Can there be a bigger betrayal than this to an Indian?

If You Forget Me

by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

The Evening Walk

I discovered the pleasure of walking only after I came to the beautiful campus of IITK. Before that I did go for trekking, cycling and played badminton and volleyball but never walked. May be there ia a certain age required to enjoy walking for the sake of walking. Walking lured me during the long, busy days with two little school going kids, when I longed for some quality time with myself. So,when hubby used to come back from the office to be with kids, I used to be out for my evening walks. This piece appeared in EYES, our campus magazine in 2003, before Blogging and Facebook had happened.

********************

Nothing’s like a brisk walk after a long day, that too on the newly tarred roads of the campus. As I move on many faces pass me by. Mostly I am with my inner self but do overhear sometimes;

"Aye tum school jaate ho? Kya hota hai wahaan?" Says a boy , pushing vegetable cart,to another.

Further near academic area, a cyclist to another, "Matrix dekh li?"

And then a rickshawalla to me "Bitiya gate jana hai?

Antragni is going on, so SAC is crowded with Junta full of verve and gusto. No soft drink ads amongst the chocolate and coffee banners. Thanks to the person behind this, sighed the mom in me!

Park-67 is a treat to the eyes but some trees are missing, what do you say? Strong Winds in the month of august already left the campus minus many green trees, but that was nature's fury. Every tree's death diminishes me. Indeed!

No matter how isolated the lane is where my 40 minutes walk takes me to, I'm never too far from an SIS guard. He suddenly appears in the scene like a gin, to my relief, as there is always a fear of a stray dog, monkeys and even a snake.

So..another day..another route

appeared in EYES, 2003

A part of Me

Sketch by "Puuung"-A korean artist

Blame it on my age

Or greying hair,

Dear Puuung,

Our thoughts are nowhere near.

Love, may be hugging her from behind in the kitchen,

But she found it on the dining table

back from work, when food was already cooked.

Love is covering your partner up with a blanket, agree.

But he felt it when she left his cozy bed to go to another room to read ,

so that he could sleep with lights off.

Falling asleep together is a bliss they know,

But she loved him most when he chose to 

get up and check the door.

Watching TV together is great,

When she let's him watch his fav sitcom

and misses her Wimbledon match.

There are many incidences 

which win her heart,

like when he warns her, still she makes mistakes.

And lets her come back in his arms.

Love shows you strange things,

The highest form of love for him is

when he feels the same warmth of his mother's lap

In his partner's embrace.

When back, knee and migraine do not let you sleep.

Depressing diseases come into the scene 

And your partner sleeps only 

After you are asleep.

Please don't get offended

When I mention,

He lets her burp

and she lets him fart!

The four letters look to me so naive

When I see grandma quietly crying.

Hugging grandpa's suit and tie,

'Where the part of me  went flying? '

Loved your sketches of

emotions and hugs.

And wish you all about love

what I have learnt.