Unkaha

Intezar to tera pal pal kiya 

Dil ki dhadkan,

Ghari ke shanon se tez thi,

Na dikha sakhte the tujhe,

Na bata sakhte the tujhe ,

Dosti ka wasta jo tune diya tha.

ग़म और ख़ुशी

ग़म और ख़ुशी

तो है एक ही पहलू

दिल तो दोनो ही, उछालते है

ग़ैरों से ना उम्मीद कोई

ना दर्द, ना ही बेहत ख़ुशी

कुछ आज के मुसाफ़िर

कुछ कल तक के

तो क्या अपेक्षा,

और कौन सा ग़म

जवाब की उम्मीद ना थी तुमसे

पर यूँ अनदेखा करोगे

सोचा ना था

आशा और निराशा

भी तो एक ही पहलू है,

दिल तो दोनो ही दुखते है।

इंतज़ार

आज फिर वही शाम

हवाओं में वही ख़ुशबू

शोर में भी सन्नाटा है

तुमने कहा था,  मिलोगे

वही जगा है

वही सब कुछ 

कल भी तेरा इंतज़ार था

आज भी।

Perfect Harmony...

Every day he would go for his stroll around 6 pm. The dusk somehow always beckoned. It was always the same routine where he would wear his favorite hat and walk down the cobbled path just around the bend of the “rosewood road”. The Church was rarely visited now, the stained-glass window was broken, the creeper once laden with white roses, today, was just a mess of cobbled twigs and the bench which was once green and welcoming, was full of moss. Yet, the gray called out to him. Though uncanny, the place in its entirety made sense, forgotten, untouched, laden with memories of yester years. It was comforting. It reassured him, that, even in today’s fast changing world there was some constant. A place, he could visit everday devoid of the constant flux. No one bothered visiting it or sprucing it up. The shiny white Church with the Saturday choir and the Sunday fest was more attractive to most.

Each day the routine was the same. The walk took him thirty minutes down the cobbled path, past the post box at the corner of Cobalt, past De’ Souza’s Patisserie, up the small hillock and then around the bend. It would take him exactly 28 minutes. He had timed it on multiple occasions. The Church did not have a name, the signboard was long gone. He had named it “Church of Harmony”. Its existence and serene surroundings created a melody which somehow sang a tune of perfect harmony.

He would sit there every day till 7:10 pm when the sun would set admiring the myriad of colors splashed during sunset. As the colors splashed, the sun would leave for its heavenly abode, he would take out his mouth organ and play the same tune, “ a melody, he wrote, years ago”. He could never give words to the tune but it did seem to have a beginning, middle and an end… As the evening gave way to night, he would walk back down the same path home…

………

She had wandered off the group. The school trip was so not fun. The teacher had promised a day of fun and games but this educational tour was not what she had signed up for. She remembered fighting with her mom, insisting that this trip was compulsory and she just had to go. In fact, Sophie had warned her that the teacher would probably make them visit all the museums and all the historic places, making each of them memorize all the history. Little did she know, that there was going to be a test, where they would need to retell the history.

Evie was a bright kid, full of life. She enjoyed talking, a lot. It was tough to tell whether she was more inquisitive or more talkative. However, the teachers loved her because she remembered everything and could ace any exam. She also had a creative way to address any question- simple and unique.

Evie had wandered off from the sunset point towards the little hillock that day. While all the other girls from Convent Mary sat and ate their prim sandwiches with a fruit enjoying the sunset, Evie decided to go for a stroll.

Suddenly, she was taken aback when she saw a church. Broken down and tattered it almost looked spooky. The cobwebs, overgrown weeds, unkempt grass and bushes, the broken glass at the door, all seemed very uncanny. She did get a bit scared.

As she turned around to run back to her group, her foot got entangled in a bundle of twigs and she fell flat. Her heart was beating so fast, that she could almost feel it in her mouth. As she tried to scramble up, she saw a shiny object near her foot. It glistened in the setting sun. Quickly she picked it up and saw that it was a mouth organ… She yanked it out of the twigs and pushed away the dry leaves, cobwebs and moss away.

She got up and saw that she was staring at a tombstone…

“Patrick Gonzalves”

1850-1920

It read, “I played my melody at the Church of Harmony”

She was sure, she had heard the mouth organ playing at a distance. She glanced at the time and it was 7:10 pm. Hastily she ran down the hillock to her school group.

 In the background the church stood aloof and still…… in perfect harmony..

Unsaid

So much left unsaid,

waiting for a reply..

If only tombstones could speak 

Letters to self 2

Dear self,

I last wrote about the Sunday where I managed to carve out some me time. The week has been a blur with lots of work, late nights, juggling home and office and a tooth ache.. I have been writing a lot of letters though.. which is quite welcoming in the otherwise mundaneness of everyday..

Today, I was asking myself - what is it with defining your own crazy? Why do you need it? Who do you need that wee bit extra? There are so many just content with mundane .. what are you seeking and why? 

So, my logical self will always draw up a list of why’s and try and put a rationale to it. I tried doing that . The fact that we all need self time, we need something which defines us , what is crazy, isn’t that relative etc... 

But, this truly defies logic ... it’s just how one is made.. some will get it, some will not.  However, if at your core you are someone who always likes odds or wants that extra piece then 

To be continued... 

Anondo

Aaj shei Falgun,

Rodh ei hawah,

Hawah boye rodh.

Ektu mishti bhaab,

Shei belli Phool

Er gondo hawai .

Aaj Robibar,

Anek golpo anek boi,

Pencil dei hawa aanka,

Ki anondo aakash ei batash ei.

Today is the advent of spring

There is a sun with the breeze

The breeze carries the sun

Bit of sweetness in the air

Gorgeous jasmine flowers 

Spread the fragrance in the air

Today is Sunday

Lots of stories and books

Trying to draw the wind with a pencil

So much joy in the sky and wind..