Hall of Life

How should we talk about...?

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 20 Aug 2020 17:39:00 +0000

Tell me how should we talk about death?

Should we cry together..

Should we talk about it..

Should we just sit in slience..

Should we go about as if nothing happened ..

Should we leave each other be..

Should we say we are here for you..

Should we not talk about it..instead talk what's the world come to?

Come by..become..

Should we never mention it ever again..

Tell me so that when I die or when you come to pass over to the other side

We would know what to do..

"Come to pass over" this will definitely make you laugh..

Laugh !!

We should laugh about it.

Written on 20th August, 2020.

(Hello.. everyone hope all of you are doing well in these trying times..of course not a good topic for a poem.. but that is a reality..and I am very bad at talking to people about death.. so this idea came up..and my quickest peom till date..I guess 10 minutes flat..take care..till then..Laugh it off !! :) )

Who will come and what they will say on your death?

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Mon, 19 Aug 2019 18:15:00 +0000

Who will come and what will they say on your death?

He had thought about it before.

He thought about it again, today.

Standing in line to pay his respects.

A manicured hand was going through open free hair in front.

Dark shades were being adjusted on a face behind him.

What were they thinking? Were they thinking about the person?

The good times..the bad ones..

Or the next thing to do after this social rigamarole.

1. She pushes the dark shades up her eyes

Hoists herself in the line of respects

Dark shades help,

They hide so many things.

Lust, loss, love, loneliness.

Nobody knew of the bond they shared.

The friendship..

How every time she was on the edge

Two friendly hands pulled her back.

Funerals are no fun she thought..

That would have made those kind eyes laugh..

Dark shades hide tears too.

She thinks about the things to say to the loved ones at the end of the line.

Words catch in her throat ..make way through her eyes

Hidden behind the shades, she says nothing.. her eyes say everything.

2. Her hands were getting caught in her unruly hair,

The multiple diamond bands, bracelets and bangles..all pulling at them.

She fears she will break a nail..of one of her freshly manicured fingers.

A hand rests on her shoulder.

Saying with a hard squeeze don't fidget, don't look for a cigarette.

She looks back at the man with a vice grip on her soul, her life, her laughter.

This pressure on her shoulder was featherlight.

She looks ahead.. the line is moving too slowly..not at all for her.

It is as still and silent as the person at the end of it.

Silent at her tears, her screams, shrieks, her agony and her appeals.

Her eyes are full of loathing for that silence.

As the line moves.. there is only pity in her blank eyes.

3. He watches the line move forward

He thinks about the person who died.

His loss..his love..his soulmate

Who had the courage, but he didn't

To defy the world, it's norms and it's clutches of tradition

He wanted to say I love you, I miss you.

But he couldn't.

People don't say what they want on your death.

They say want those who are left behind want to hear.

Everyone comes..almost

Most say little,

Some say nothing that matters.

The ones that matter stay silent forever.

The line has ended..so has the show.
The manicured hand is tapping ash out of a car window.
Through the dark shades she looks at the hand in the car and thinks.. lucky !!
Rolling up the window she sees dark shades..torn jeans..thinks..free !!
He shakes his head..muses..who will come and what they will say on his death?
Good person.. mad person.. definitely mad !!
He laughs, looks up at the sky hoping to hear that smile back.

Written 22nd July, 2019. (initial idea)

Hey junta..how are you all doing? I had said sometime ago actually a long time ago that I would not say long time no see or it's been a long time,, but frankly speaking its been a long time.. this poem took a long time coming..took sometime to come from paper to blog.. took some more time to write this comment..well long should be my middle name now.. :) :P but well.. so how you all? How's life? What you been all upto? I for starters have been so mired in the petty stuff that I think I forgot to breathe..so this poem is like a breath of fresh air..not my best or my finest..but still I can write. It may seem to be a bit long and a bit laboured..firstly because it took some effort, secondly because though I wrote it on paper first but not the entire poem and while writing it on the blog.. twice it did not get saved so had to write it again. Simplicity of thought gets muddied.

So this is my first poem that I wrote in a moving vehicle..a taxi.. while returning home..it is long journey.. see long again..:) It started with dark shades hide a lot idea. Then as I was in a taxi I remembered that sometime ago in another taxi ride I had seen a beautiful manicured hand out of car window tapping cigarette ash. I couldn't see the face and wondered about the story of that hand. So when dark shades hide tears.. tears in a funeral.. and this hand could have been going to or returning from a funeral. I had already written few lines for poem titled 'Who will come..' earlier from there came the idea of poem within a poem or short stories in a poem. Thus in this poem where three different people have come to the same funeral and telling their own stories. They see the other person and make assumptions without knowing what they are going through. We do that everyday no? Make assumptions about a person without knowing their life journey.

Have you ever wondered what will people say when you die? more than who will come.. Good person? everyone will say that right..thats a safe word :).. think about it..till then have fun and happy rediscovering yourself. So long !! ;) :P

There is a sadness in his eyes..

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sun, 11 Jun 2017 18:47:00 +0000

There is a sadness in his eyes...
But his eyes smile, they do, a lot.
What is it then, I see
Is it my questioning look
My searching for sadness
Hoping to find some loss
Some hurt..

He had lost a love.
A life.
He must hurt
I am convinced
I look for proof
I dig
I observe.

His smiling eyes
Are they mocking me?
Hiding behind the veil of happiness!
No they are happy.
Prodding me to smile some more
I laugh a little
Live a little.

I am careful around him
He has not spoken about it
Do I want the details
Yes..
No..I want to know how is he feeling..coping..
No..I want to know how is he happy
Genuinely.
Truly.

His eyes smile a lot
Deeply
There is love, hope..longing
Life..
Maybe I will ask him one day
How..why?
Maybe I will learn to smile some more
He is a good teacher
Infectious.

I smile a little more
My eyes smile a little less
Haltingly..
My sadness is reflected in his.
His looks at me.
Me.
Deeply.

He surrounds me with laughing eyes
I throw my head back and chortle
My eyes are smiling
His shine with mirth.

Written on 11th June, 2017.

(So I have discovered that when I read only then can I write Ideas, words start popping in my head. Of course I have to have time to sit down, think and write. Of course I have written after a long long time. Also wrote this poem on paper first and at one go after ages. Though what you see here is an edited version. So how have you been? Happy? Sad? Listless? going about the motions? Not wanting to get in the details of the inspiration behind the poem. I think the people who have truly suffered loss are the ones who are also truly happy..or they learn to be happy or they appreciate or treasure the happy times more. Not all..maybe only a few.. Maybe there are just happy souls..innocent..childlike..cute..Actually that is the word cute..in the true sense.. Hope you have such cute souls around you. Happy Vacations !! :) I will see you when I see you)

Walk of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sat, 30 Jan 2016 19:26:00 +0000

Stumbling,tottering and tilting
falling over
getting up again, unsure yet curious
All the time laughing.
smiling and learning.

Kicking around, jumping over,
sprinting and climbing,
scraping..hurting.
Always persevering.
stretching the limits,
achieving and exhaling.

Strolling, ambling aimlessly,
tripping, tramping..locking and unlocking
loving, playing, teasing, pursuing
Twirling.
swaying and spinning.
dancing away in the night.

Shepherding,guiding,
leading and being lead on.

Marching on,
always running but curiously staying at the same place.
trudging and plodding.
Scraping, scurrying,
looking behind never fondly.
Never ahead with awe.

Kneeling, bending with the weight.
stopping..almost..
steadying.
Heavy heart..lifting

Uplifting again..the soul, the mind
starting again..
slipping..tottering..
Smiling and learning anew.

Written on 31st January, 2016.

(Hello there..how is it going? Long time no see, no hear, no write.. We have gone beyond explanations now right??!! Like a bad penny that returns or more like if you love someone set them free and they do return !! :D Believe me I tired..really..but could not write..not that I did not have the time ..though I was busy and have discovered you are more busy in your head than with work. I just could not write..came here many times started one or two poems..could not finish them..had no new ideas. Today too I came back as I have some time on my hands..what with being laid up in bed compulsorily. Relax not to worry too much..ankle sprain and ligament tear..so basically now learning to walk..self teaching this time around !!:)..and thought what about writing about learning to walk..and from there it went to how walking, and being on our feet, up and about..kinds of defines our phases of life..and hence the poem. I have written about hands as Links of Life and this could be a kind of a parallel. Self inspiration..don't worry I am not going to write about any more body parts. And well, if nothing else there are a whole lot of synonyms to learn here ;). So in the process learnt to write again..and one more realisation dawned. Creativity needs discipline too. Hope I can translate this into other things in my life. That's a good way to start the new year too right..ya ya I know..but better late than never..Happy New Year !! See you around and keep walking.)

The Yellow Truck

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sun, 05 Oct 2014 15:22:00 +0000

In the backyard,
Among the beetles and boxes,
Broken bottles and bright sunlight,
The yellow truck glistened.

It sped through,
The wilting lilies and tall grasses,
Whizzing past the rickety chair of grandma,
And spicy sunbathing pickle bottles.

It turned turtle quiet a few times.
Banging into many a feet and furniture.
Screaming children and scolding parents,
Scurrying out of its way.

It sped through,
On four red wheels,
Two wooden planks,
Yellow in colour,
The yellow truck.

It had no engine, no power
Only little hands moved it and
Small legs ran with it, gave it speed.
And leaped over hurdles.
Squeals of laughter were the horns
And tired little bodies, the brakes.

It sped through.
It amazed them,the little beings.
Irritated adults.
Entertained toothless gramps.
Simple, plain, unadorned.
The yellow truck.

Written on 5th October, 2014.

( Hi.. I am back :) No excuses..no complaints and no usage of the word "long" with varied no. of "o". The poem is inspired by a friend who told me story about his yellow truck one of the very few toys he had and how it was so simple and made of wood ..and not like todays' toys so complicated and sophisticated. He had the most fun with it and amazing thing is his nephew inherited the truck from him and used to play with it. Taking a deep breath and remembering childhood days and reliving the simple joys and fun times is one of our favourite pastimes. Those were the days !! So this festive season (all the ads are saying that :P ) follow the KISS principle..keep it simple stupid !! :) Happy Id and Happy Diwali !! :) )

The river of winter

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 05 Dec 2013 19:23:00 +0000

It gathers like froth over the cold earth,
Swirling around lovers on a secret rendezvous,
Whispering and murmuring.
It flows and ebbs like the sea over the valley,
Playing hide and seek with the moon,
Twinkling and shining.
It twists and turns like a storm,
Rolling down the hills stealthily into the eye of a mystery,
Whistling and chattering.
It strolls hand in hand with the evening,
Bidding farewell to the sun,
Silently and smiling.
It tempts and teases,
Inviting and forbidding,
Cosy and cold.
Dark and light.
Black and white.
Beautiful and evil.
It envelops all,
The river of winter..
Fog..over the cold earth.

Written on 6th December, 2013.

(Well what do I say..sorry won't cut it but still sorry..My second post this year..lots of changes this year..no longer a student..working..setting up my home..and lots of other things. Its winter time and time for white mornings, staring into nothingness and mysterious beauty..hot chai and lazy days.. Hope you are having one of these days or will soon have them what with the holidays coming..So here's to cheerful, thankful and forgiving times..:) A Beintot !! )

सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 18:39:00 +0000

सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है
वोह पतली सी
हरे रंग की,
कुछ रंग बिरंगी फूल बने थे
कबसे लिपटे थे वोह उन कर्मठ कंधो पर।

माचिस की खुशबू
कई मसालों कि महक
आया करती थी उस से
कभी सर पर कभी कंधों पे झुला करती
काम करते हाथों को गर्मी कहाँ भाती है।

कभी कभी रसोई में दौड़ लगाते हम
छिप जाया करते उसके अन्दर
उसके हरे धागों के बीच से आती झिलमिल रोशिनी
वह भीनी महक
और सुन्हेलि गर्मी
एक अलग ही संसार था।
सादा सुखद और शांत।

अब सर्दी में मोटे मोटे स्वेटरों में कहीं चिपे हुए हम
नीचे देख के जल्दी जल्दी भागते रहते है
ठंड से .. अकेलेपन से .. शोर से
तो और भी
सर्दी में माँ की शाल याद आती है।

Written on 1st February, 2013.

(First post of the year..A very Happy New Year !! wont apologize for the long absence because there is no excuse or apology. This poem was in my mind since long..I still remember that green shawl mom had and used to wear it in the severe winters of Srinagar. I can still smell matchsticks and spices on it. Have not seen it since long. Will check if she still has it. Memories have a way of lingering.. :) Till next time.. Hopefully soon..Happy Valentines Day !! Spread Love)

I want to make hot phulkas after PhD.

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Fri, 28 Sep 2012 06:43:00 +0000

In a recent article by the poster boy of Indian writing from the flock of B'School graduates - advises men to marry women who do not make hot phulkas at home but work in a potato chips company (am paraphrasing) i.e. are working. He lists lot of advantages a working woman can bring to the family and home. For e.g. she can help her husband in dealing with office politics and bring back information and knowledge as she is better exposed to the world. So now not only do I have to be fair, beautiful, slim and homely to get married, I have to be working woman as well. That is if I have to meet the criteria published daily in newspaper matrimonial pages. Not only convent educated mind you but working. Thinking that one article can influence the age-old marriage market is perhaps naive but going by his book sales you never know.

Though it has changed, the market that is. Now educated working women are the need of the hour or rather homes. Therefore I never had a choice. Earlier I was not allowed to study , then only allowed to study so that I become eligible for marriage as times changed and people wanted educated DiLs and then allowed to work but its continuation depended on the in-laws. Now they want working DiLs. Where is my choice and my freedom? If I choose to make hot phulkas after doing PhD who is anybody to tell me that I should not do it? And use my grand education for a job and mind you earn well. What if I want to pursue a different career and god forbid not marry at all !! Why should anybody tell me what do to and not to do and question me about it.

My mother taught for twenty years and stopped working before reaching retirement age. Did that make her suddenly incapable or did her job as a school teacher make her less capable as mother or wife because she could not tell Dad about mutual funds? Many of friends in school and college had non-working mothers and they were as well-brought up as me and others who had working mothers. Education should lead to jobs is a topic for another post. But where is it written? More so and more importantly education does not come from sitting in a classroom. That is literacy. Was it not the so called highly educated who were managing the i-banks responsible for the 2008 financial crisis. Education means how to live your life well and make your surroundings if not the world a better place. And knowing the difference between clothes and culture which equate wearing a sari to purity and shorts to promiscuity. You may be a financial wizard but you make millions at the cost of others you are nothing more than a common thief. You maybe Lalitaji in the whitest of white sari yet can be a dowry seeking torturing MiL.

Managing home is a mind blogging task which is to be done 24/7 365 days an year. It involves all the disciplines in the world be it management, finance, politics, ethics, you name it and you get it. The word Economics originates from a Greek word which means household management. Rejecting household work and being a homemaker (now that housewife is out of fashion) is down right ridiculous. The fact is anything I do there is counter by the so called society. If I don't work after completing my education then I was not worth of getting a job. If I don't take a break for having babies and leave them in the care of the maid then I am a callous mother. I am also guilty of stereotyping and questioning others. When after class XII my classmates started getting married and I was like 'so soon'. I did not know under what circumstances and conditions. Maybe after their marriage they completed their education and went on to careers. One of the examples that comes to mind is Tarla Dalal.

Career and jobs are not the be all and end all of life. The reason they are given importance is because through it mostly and especially for women stems their freedom and liberation. What is needed is firstly respect for what ever I am doing be it managing home or managing a fortune 500. Secondly freedom to choose my way of life and the encouragement to pursue my dreams. This not only for me or women but for everybody. In a modern free society the freedom to choose, to be different, have the courage to reject stereotypes and labels are a must. Breath. Live and let live.

P.S. I don't know how to cook !!

Written on 28th September, 2012.

( You can read the article mentioned in the blog here

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/sunday-toi/all-that-matters/Home-truths-on-career-wives/articleshow/15243750.cms. Don't have much to say now just that respect others and their choices and yes you may think of all the caveats that are legal :) Till next time Happy Dusshera !!!! :) )

Glittering and Gritty

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 10:23:00 +0000

Every beat of the drum,

pierced his heart.

Every note of the shennai,

brought tears to his eyes.

Yet he kept on playing,

longing to go back in time.

Clutched tightly between his fingers,

like grains of sand.

Glittering and gritty.

The time when every moment was celebrated,

big or small..

The breaking of dawn,

the last light of day and closing of gates.

Birth of a new life,

victory over old foes.

New ends..old beginnings..

the age of innocence.

Now there are just two of them,

keeping the tradition alive.

Alone and forgotten.

a spectacle for rare visitors,

Relic of the past.

The music fades away,

few odd spectators leave.

Its been long since a crowd gathered.

he packs away the instruments,

The memories and the times.

and the few grains still left between his fingers..

Glittering and gritty.

Written on 18th August, 2012.

(Its been a long long time..almost three months.. sorry sorry.. This poem also took a long time to take shape four months almost. The old city of Ahmedabad has lot to explore. The history,the stories. Some traditions still continue..The city gates when they were closed at night in the past did so with music playing in the background. One family still continues that tradition till date and at night around 11pm in a small room above the gates which now remain open play for sometime. It is sad and heartening at the same time. What will you do to go back in time which we think to be better than the present. Till next time..Eid Mubarak.. :) )

The market for horses

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sat, 05 May 2012 23:25:00 +0000

मैं नींद के कुछ घोड़े बेचना चाहती

पर बिकते नहीं मेरे

मैं मिन्नतें करती

विनय पूजा करती

पर अड़ियल टटुओं की तरह

वो हिनहिनाते और मैं भिनभिनाती .

रात भर करवट बदलती

चादर कभी हटा देती कभी दाल लेती

ताकिय कभी सर के नीचे

कभी पैरोँ के पास ..

धरती की तरह अपनी अक्सिस पर और

पलंग के चारों ओर चक्कर काटती रह्ती

कुछ ज़ल्दी सोने वालों कि असीम अनुकम्पा बनी रहती

सारा मार्केट कुछ ही घंटों में घोड़े से लबालब भर जाता

और मेरा माल बिक नहीं पता

बोनी करने वालों को कुछ गा.. कुछ कटोर शब्दों में

मैं बहुत कुछ सुनाती ..पर कुछ नहीं बदलता ...

मैं और मेरी नींद कोसौं दूर होते

और बीच में यह न बिकने वाले घोड़े ..

मैं खचर , गधे.. यहाँ तक कि भेड़ के दाम में भी बेचना चाहती

पर कोई खरीदार नहीं मिलता..

लोग कहते है नींद न आना प्रेम में होने कि निशानी है.

इस बात पर मेरा मन करता..

कि इन्ही घोड़ो के परौं तले सारे बेसुरे शायरों को कुचलवा दूं !!!!

थक हार के जब घोड़े और मैं दोनों शांत ह़ो जाते ..

तो सूर्य कि पहली किरण के साथ एक आशा कि किरण दिखती

अंतर राष्ट्रीय बाज़ार खुलने का समय हों गया..

धरती अपने अक्सिस पे घूम गयी ..

घोड़े विदेश में बिक सकते है

मैं सोचती देर आये दुरुस्त आये.

कुछ नहीं से थोडा कुछ सही

दो पल के लिए ही सही ..

कुछ ही घंटे वोह घोड़े फिर वापस आ जायेंगे

मुझे ढूँढ़ते हुए..

जीवन कि इस आपा धापी में मेरे साथ भागने के लिए ..

फिर रात में ना बिकने के लिए..

घोड़े नहीं गधे है !!

पर मेरे है.

Written on 6th May, 2012

(This is my second poem on sleep. The earlier one was Surrender and you win.. .. Well what can I say .. writing poems about sleep deprivation at this hour is saying enough.. Till next time.. Happy Summers !!!! :) )

Then we will talk..

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 08:31:00 +0000

My name.
the colour of my skin
how i look.
my accent
the language I speak.
how i dress
my size.
the way I eat food
how i live.
my sex.
how much I make or giveaway.
who i love.
to whom I bow my head or raise my hands to.

When it all does not matter.
When you look at me and only me
And find me.
Then
We will talk.
Listen and speak
And live.

Written on 13th April, 2012.

(You can discriminate and you do on every thing that makes me.. me and different from you. Am I fat, am I dark skinned, am I speaking your language with a accent, do I pray and to whom, who i choose to spend my life with and when and how. The list goes on. Take a breath, step back and look.. and see...They are you.
The blog completes its three years this 19th. Thank you for reading and appreciating. Till next time. Happy Baisakhi and all the Happy New Years !!!! :) )

Fare..Well..

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 01 Mar 2012 19:26:00 +0000

Silent tears,
Starry smiles.
Waving hands,
Unsaid goodbyes.

Million memories,
Tugging the heart.
Sweet and sad,
Merry and mad.

Dreams fulfilled,
Wishes granted.
New paths and new dreams,
Unexplored and expansive.

A wish on the lips.
A tear in the eye.
Looking back,
With a wistful smile.
They bid adieu and say,
Fare..Well.. my friend.

Written on 2nd March, 2012.

(One of my friend's got married last week and one is leaving after completing her degree and it is season of goodbyes. Mostly happy but it is a little sad. It is hard to say goodbye better to say we will meet again soon. Till next time and hopefully sooner, my apologies for the late post again missed February. Happy Holi !!!! :) Be safe play safer.)

Love..in the..Story

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 21:08:00 +0000

She remembered everything,
He forgot most of it.
She reminded,
He regretted.
She sulked.
He dealt,
With love, kisses, hugs.
She smiled,
He sighed.
Then...

She remembered some of it,
He forgot nothing.
She fretted,
He cajoled.
She feared.
He fought,
With her demons, dreams, nightmares.
She sighed.
He smiled.
A little...

Written on 27th January, 2012.

(Sorry for such a long silence. It has been two months. First of all A very Happy New Year !!!! :) We are still in January so it is still valid. And before you say that the poem reminds you of a certain Hollywood movie based on a book and remade into a Hindi movie. Well let me say that, that is not the inspiration. Just that it is said that and true to some extent women remember a lot. Dates, incidents, time, mistakes... ;) and men don't. I know vice versa cases and am sure there will be many. What is important the love of two people in all the mayhem of her and his..story to find their love story. And it is a scary thought that someone whom you love does not remember you or anything else. Till we meet next time spread love and Happy Valentines' Day !!)

The Heart in response to Despair

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 23:08:00 +0000

Scared of the new he did not move on,

Looking back on what was long gone.

The chasm of despair was wide enough,

Dark and deep, pulsating and painful.

The abyss of fear had its own echo.

Trying to drown the sound of that soft tinkle,

And the eyes would now and then wrinkle.

But on the morrow or days after,

The sun will warm every corner.

Leaves will struggle and shoot to new life.

And one dark corner will be a room long unvisited,

A treasure to keep, to smile and reminisce about.

Shake your head and laugh about.

For the heart believes, has faith.

Hope and love are all around.

To take, not two steps but a leap,

To cross the chasm of despair so deep.

Its beats every day and says

Why think of the end at the new beginning?

Written on 7th November, 2011.

( The second para of the poem (now modified) was in response to a friend's poem about a personal loss. Trying to give him hope wrote that and today completed the whole poem. Life and loss go together and despair has such wide encompassing wings that it can engulf you forever. It is enticing too and a safe place to be because the world out their seems scary and brutal. It is and it is not. Most of us are fortunate enough to have friends, loved ones and family around reach out , hang on , cry, throw a tantrum , sulk but move on. If not for yourself but for them for they will also be tired of counselling you after sometime :P just kidding. Move on. The heart is strong more than you think. Otherwise start using saffola :) 'teri dil ki baat main jaanu'

On that note Eid Mubarak !!!! :) Till we meet again Khuda Haafiz !! :) ) P.S. do visit the link behind the room long unvisited words a previous poem about heart and the hall of life.

To whomsoever it is concerned

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 22:04:00 +0000

Taking out time to listen,
Hearing out and holding on.
Always around,
Never letting go.
Kissing away the tears and fears.

Years go by,
Only thing that passes are good times,
Unending and unusual.

Written on 23rd October, 2011

(My birthday just went by and I was overwhelmed with the love and wishes of friends and family. There were midnight celebrations and surprises and a treasure hunt thrown in for good measure. Phone calls (international calls too !!), smses and gifts. The day and sometime after it was full of joy, happiness and so much love. It made me realize, well I know it but it reinforced and reiterated the fact that I am much loved. Such a amazing feeling. So a bigggg Thank You to all ( you know who you are ..!! ). A poem after a long time. Till we meet again a very Happy Diwali !!!! :) Adios Amigos..)

The Radio

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 14:57:00 +0000

Timeless melodies enthralling,
Humming hearts and many ears,
Engaging in a conversation that is beyond words.

Rhythms of love, life, laughter, loneliness in random order or,
Arranged and always aloud.
Demanded or dictated by moody denizens of a well known red abode.
In house juggler on the call, and the show is on,but
Only for the love of music, memories and mellow musings.

Written on 4th September, 2011.

(The Radio is the internal Lan radio I play in my campus and have had a amazing experience doing so. When I started someone asked me to change the name because it was to simple and direct playing The Radio on the Lan radio but way it caught on in campus it soon became THE Radio of the campus. I have earned many friends through it just discussing music on our internal messenger and many fans. I can be unabashedly immodest about one thing in life and that is The Radio. People have met me and said thank you for making their days more fun, or that they remain on campus just because The Radio is on. Once I had one listener ring me up and hum a tune of a song just played so that I can play it again. It took me some time to figure it out but well it was good fun. Now days are close when The Radio will close shop but till that time enjoy listening and a big thank you to everyone out there who ever listened to The Radio. I had a time of my life playing it. Signing off for now till next time take care !!! :) )

The Art of Accepting Gifts

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 22:45:00 +0000

If the first thought in your mind while taking a gift is "Why ?? and not WOW !!!! then you need to learn the art. You think "Oh god, I have to return the favour in equal measure if not more" then join fast. I used the word taking not accepting because if you accept, then you make it your own with your heart, with all the love and respect and you feel happy and not obliged. Gone are the days when a simple parle-g biscuit packet untidily packed gave so much pleasure ( true story by the way ..you heard it from the acceptor's mouth). Now it is just calculation about the money and more so the comparison and the equality (not of the good kind) of what the current receiver previously gave you. Not a thought is given to the love and affection behind the gift. But the giver is also not above all this and it may not be you and you might be responding or reacting to someone else's (coining a new term ..*drum roll*) calculative gift. It has become a game of one-up- man-ship. "Uska gift mere gift se bada kaise?" *Sigh* innocence is over ..so the joy of gifts is only for the young that too below 7 years because after that I guess they do take part in their parents discussions as to what to give their friends.
"व्यवहार" or social obligation or conduct has taken over the art of gifting. Sometimes it is required to done in the social spectrum among relatives. Ok I agree always but it can be reduced and removed if people want. But व्यवहार among friends is beyond my comprehension. And not among casual friends but good friends. Who gave what, for how much, and what should be given back. Lets not even get started on combined gifts. Such a mess !!!!
Actually this blog is about me if by now you have not realized I am just taking out my frustration but of course regarding gifts only. I love giving gifts as much as I love receiving them. People think and say too that I accept anything and should have no problem in that. Good thing or bad or pathetic...I don't know. But I accept any gift with all the love and thought I give gifts. The overriding motive behind my gifts to people is they remember me by it. I am basically a memory and nostalgia collector so I try to give the memories to others. Joy and happiness too. It is still such fun to open the wrapper ...
I know people who do not believe in either receiving or giving gifts. Well they have a stated and publicly declared policy ..good that's clear. But try giving them a gift, it is addictive I tell you who does not like to be surprised :). Guys specially non-boyfriends dont believe in giving gifts specially to girls on their own combined maybe and among their guy gang possible. Boyfriends do not have a option poor souls !!! but I know boyfriends who don't give gifts as well they might be in deep trouble ;). But then again it is given that he has to give why ?? well the girl also gives ok.. but why necessary? I can hear people say 'you have not been in a relationship' So it is girl thing well not exactly but mostly.
Let me hazard a generalization without fearing a backlash. Girls give gifts among friends and when they are friends mostly and guys when they start earning and to show off their money mostly in social settings maybe among friends too. But I seriously envy the freedom with which guys walk into any party and wedding without carrying a gift and they don't disappoint anyone because that is expected behaviour. Now I am in serious trouble with my gender.
Jokes apart would really request elders to accept gifts from their juniors because when they gift you something they feel proud about it and also happy that they are giving or trying to give you as much happiness as you gave them. Friends ..chill dude and dudettes seriously please. Those who do not believe in either giving or receiving gifts please state your preference clearly not only verbally but in writing as well be it birthdays or marriages or mundans and others please respect it if not the verbal then the written word is sacred. And most importantly if I give you a gift accept it with joy because that is what I was trying to give you and in return give me a memory of good times spent with you and I will cherish it. (Well a gift will do just fine too :) )

Written on 29th July, 2011.

( The title is from a Reader's Digest article which I really liked and cannot find anywhere now. It was beautifully written and said that not only giving gifts but accepting them was also important. I am tired of explaining why I give gifts or giving this one in particular. I like to see the joy on people's face but all I see is question marks. I have to fight to give gifts seriously.. !!! Just realized this could have been the blog short and sweet. But if you are here then you read it anyways :D. This is my third prose blog and two blogs have been old poems one mine and one someone else's so only three original poems till now. Three poems in seven months I need a mid course corrections lets hope that happens. Till we meet again...Happy Teej, and Rakshabandhan. :) )

Duniya mein do type ke...

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 20:09:00 +0000

Incident One : Caught a radio auto for the railway station. Reached station. Got out to pay the fare. While taking out the money hit forehead with hand and touched a already hurting insect bite. Let out a rather loud cry of pain. The auto driver looked up with concern and asked what happened. Explained just a insect bite. He checked the auto for any luggage or item left behind and nodded his head. Said thank you and moved on.

Incident Two: Do not use a pillow while sleeping. The pillow during train journeys usually end being put behind acting as head rest for the bed. In the 2 A compartment a young guy walked up coolly picked the pillow from behind head and walked away. By the time realization hit he was gone. Boiled with anger. Did nothing. Imagined a good fight in mind. Frustrated. Remembered incident one. Took a deep breath.

Small inconsequential things. Just one question of concern. Just a damn dirty railway pillow.

Written on 13th July, 2011.

(The title is a dialogue from the film Hum from a very famous drunk scene. Black, white or grey you decide or of no consequence you decide. Missed out June's post so this one for June. Hopefully will write another one this month. Till then Happy Monsoons !!!! :) )

साक्षात्कार

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Mon, 30 May 2011 20:20:00 +0000

तारों के जंगल में अभियंता का घर

अन्दर जाने के लिए घंटी बजायी

तो कहीं से आवाज़ आई

'स्वागत है '

आसपास कोई न था

तोह क्या यह मेरा भ्रम था

नहीं साहब यह घंटी ही बोली थी

अभियंता के गहर की जो थी

अन्दर जाने में लगा डर

कहीं दरवाज़े ने हाथ मिलाया

और खिड़की ने मुस्काया

पर अपना प्रण हमे याद आया

आज उनसे मिलकर साक्षात्कार लेना ही था

भीतर का दृश्य बड़ा अदभुत था

न कुर्सी, न मेज़, न कालीन, न गलीचा था

कमरा ऐसे खली था जैसे किसी

भिखारी की खाने की थाली था

हम आश्चर्य से थे दंग

तभी हमारा ध्यान हुआ भंग

वहि आवाज़ हमारे परिचय की अभिलाषी थी

अपनी तारीफ़ में हमने बताया

एक अख़बार से सम्बन्ध है

यह कह कर हम हो गए चुप

तभी एक द्वार खुला जिसके अन्दर अँधेरा था घुप्प

हम धड़कते दिल से चल दिए उस ओर

लगा कि पता बतने वाले ने हमे गलत दिया मोड़
चलते चलते पहुंचे जब हम एक स्थान
धड़ाम से गिरते चले गए जाने किस धाम
ईश्वर का हमने लिया नाम
अपने प्रिये जानो को किया अंतिम प्रणाम
सोच लिया था कि अब यह हमारा आखिरी समय है
लेकिन अभी हमारी जीवन यात्रा बची थी
शायद इसलिए भाग्य को हम पर कृपा हुई
और हमारे प्राणों की रक्षा हुई

हमारे सब्र का बांध बस अब टूटने ही वाला था

यह कोई साक्षात्कार था या हमारे संपादक का प्रतिकार
आज बच गए तो सबको देख लेगे
येही सोच कर हम आगे बढ़े थे
उस घडी को हम नहीं पाएंगे भूल
जिसको देख कर हम हर्ष से गए थे फूल
हमारे समक्ष वह कक्ष था जो अभियंता के अविष्कारों से भरा था

वह अभियंता तथा वैज्ञानिक भी थे

परन्तु दिखते वह किसी चिड़ियाघर के नमूने थे

उनकी आधी बातें तोह हमारे सर के ऊपर से निकल गयी दूर

कितनी हमने लिखी कितनी कानों के सफ़र से बहार हो गयी

हम उनके अविष्कारों को समझने में असमर्थ थे

और वह हमारी इस विवशता से अनभिज्ञ थे

जब उनसे लिया गया समय हुआ समाप्त

तो हमे खुली हवा में जाने का सुख होने वाला था प्राप्त

हम फिर उसी राह से लौटने पर घबराये

और अनुरोध कर एक दुसरे मार्ग का पता पाए

पर वह मार्ग तोह पहले से अधिक यम का दूत था

हम वहां से बहार कैसे आये यह हमारी बहादुरी का सबूत था

मन ही मन राम को करते प्रणाम

कुछ बाते हमने मन में ली ठान

सबसे पहले अपने संपादक से लेंगे इस विश्वासघात का सार

फिर समाचार पत्र की इस नौकरी का करेंगे तिरस्कार

और जीवन में अब कभी किसी अभियंता का न लेंगे साक्षात्कार

Written in 1995.

( Was completely blank this month about which poem to write, so dug out an old poem to share. One of my very few Hindi poems. Had written it in class IX and it was published in the school magazine also. Till next time ..प्रणाम :) )

Surrender and you win..

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 09:55:00 +0000

She slips through your grasp,
Making you wonder when she will come back.
She eludes and evades all ensnares,
Mocking at your weak attempts to entice her.
She peeks from behind clouds of dreams,
Muddling your thoughts and making you mad.
She runs and laughs, stops and giggles,
Mischievous like a naughty girl.
Surrendering to her tantrums is the last resort you think..,
May be she accepts your defeat and takes your head as a prize.
She sneaks in quietly, still lurking furtively in the corridors of your hazy thoughts,
Making sure you have given up the fight to take her over.
She likes to conquer you see,
Make her fight and she quietly withdraws.
Sleep believes in nonviolence and pacifist ways, thats why;
Me, you and everyone waits for that peaceful sleep.

Written on 21st April, 2011.

(Sleep the elusive slippery smart customer.. never comes when you most need it ..and completely abandons you when you will it to come or make an effort to have her.. surrender , beg and give up the fight then she comes .. The blog completed its two years, two days ago on 19th April.. so a double post to celebrate it !! Thank you for reading .. until later..Sleep Well !!!! :) )

Hain Kya Hua ..Kya Hua .. ??

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 11:13:00 +0000

Hain Kya Hua ..kya hua ..

Ekakani Natak ..

Jagah: Ek colony ke park ki bench par

Patra : 2 adher umar ke vyakti jo har baat pe gyan dete hain aur dikhate hain ki who kitna jaante hain ..

Samay: Sham ek yahi 7 baj rahe hain

Patra 2: bathe kuch soch rahe hain ..unke chehre par sawaal ke sign ..

Patra 1: unki oor aate hue ..ruk kar bolte hain ..

Patra 1 : hain kya hua ?

Patra 2 : kya hua?

Patra 1: yeh sawaalon se bhare chehre ka matlab ?

Patra 2 : dimag ki batti gul hai kuch vichar nahin aa rahe

Patra 1 : ohh ho accha accha power supply down hai lagta .. power station check kariye

Patra 2 : haan major fault hai udhar govt ko tax nahin dene se power ban ho gaya hai poore rajya ka

Patra 1 : tax bahriye zurmane ke saath.. kuch rishwat khilaye , power aa jayige

Patra 2: khilane ke liye to nahin hai.. pila sakte hain

P1 : aree toh pila hi dijiye

P2 : par soch rahe the koi gair-paramparik urja source par kyun nahin dhyan kendrit kiya jaye

P1: aree pehle asal wali power toh layiee phir ..gair paramparik urja par kaam kariye

insaan saans toh lega na bhala khaye kuch bhi

P2: nahin aap sochen jab amrika ne humare nuclear test ke baad ban lagaya tha to humne bahut creativity dikhayi thi aur self-sustaain ho gaye the ...aap atalji se pooch le

P1: yeh acchi baat nahi hai .. jo baat ho woh aap secular non secular par laa ke khada kar dete hain ..

P2 :baat to emergency se shuru hoti hai

P1: baat tab shuru hoti hai ki jab gandhiji ne calutta mein staygarha kiya tha dange rokne ke liye

P2: main to kehta hoon yahan bhi reinessance jaisa kuch hona chahiye.. ye lokpal ek achhi shuruat hai..rom rom me rome bas sakta hai yahan bhi

(P1 khudte hue mann mein sochte hain..accha abhi itaaly se wapas aaye toh shaan dikha rahe.. abhi batata huun )

P1: dekha yeh italy ke log sab jagah pehle hue hain .. hamrare upar raj karna chahte hain

apni roman empire to dedh gayi … soni ki chidiya hi dikhti hai abhi bas

P2: aajkal waise bhi sabhyata to rahi nahin ..hum aap to bas ghoom phir ke haath aur kamal ke beech me ghoom rahe hain bas

P1 : aree kya baat keh di apne ..bas haath kamal to pyar se pakad le.. toh gandhiji ka sapna sach ho jaye

P2 : aji gandhi ji ke to bahut sapne the.. unme se kuch shayad amsterdam me sach hote honge

P1: haan jaise hamam mein sab ......hote hain waise sauna mein bhi sab ... hote honge

P2: aree hamam se yaad aaya ..mujhe nahana hai .. nahi aap toh jaante hain Sarla khana nahi khane degi.. chaliye chalat hain .. tata

P1: tata tata…

P1 aur P2 apne apne gharoon jaate hue .. manch ki lights dheemi hoti hain…

……………………………….Parda girta hai ……………………………………………………..

Written ..rather created and inspired on 14th April 2011

( This conversation was inspired by a conversation between two friends where the discussion thread jumped hoops from one track to another and made no sense. When we converse we love toshow others how much we know and how clever arguments we can make.. but sometimes its turns absurd but hilarious. I thought of using the Devanagari script but them thought ki roman script will give a nice feel to this natak. Chaliye abhi chalat hain phir mulakat hogi.:) )

Leisure

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 17:15:00 +0000

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

By William Henry Davies.

(Discovered this poem in conversation with friends. Life's small pleasures which we forget.. !! )

I Can..Can You ? Epilogue

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 18:27:00 +0000

Some days have passed,
Unassuming yet unbridled with joy.
Nothing has changed, yet everything has.
Songs, all of them make sense !!
Hearts, hopes and hands are linked.
In a circle of life, love and friendship.
Nights are brighter and days shorter.
Everlasting and forever.

Written on 28 February, 2011.

(Initially wanted to write a longer poem but thought should end this short and sweet. So here is the end of the love story .. Happy wala.. If you want to read the first 2 parts then go here Part 1 Part 2. So long then .. Hasta la vista.. !! :) )

I Can..Can You ? Reprise

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 21:35:00 +0000

I see you walking behind someone,

Looking down on the road,

Mumbling as usual.

He stops, taps your head and smiles at you*.

You light up.

I blink and walk away.

You wave at me, catching my eye.

Hop, never walk towards me.

Throwing your head back, laughing.

A smile has made you happy.

The sunlight catches in your hair,

Golden brown..shimmering you glow.

And blow me away.

I see your heart chipping away.

I want to pick up all those pieces and build us a dream.

You still look up at the sun smiling**.

Such strength !!

I sit down , resenting ..and defeated.

Ruffling my hair, you shake your head at my scowl.

You pull of a tuft to lift my head, my spirits.

I give a mock cry.

But my eyes water ..with pain.. real.

Your eyes huge with concern, so deep and glistening,

Bore into my soul, searching.

I get lost !

You find me, you frown, you look away..

I take your hand to get up.

Thinking, you look down at our hands.

Yours has disappeared in mine the way you like.

I look at you , speaking without saying,

I don't want a promise, or a bond, or this world or any other.

Hold my hand and walk with me,

I can.. can you ?

Written on 31st January, 2011.

( First of all a very Happy New Year !!! :) Thankfully did this month's post in time. This is from the guy's perspective, the third of the kind and first sequel poem. I can ..can you part II. You might want to read the first part * and also the other reference to my other poem She Smiled ** The love story continues.. more when we meet again.. Adios amigos !! )

Airports

noreply@blogger.com (Manisha) — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 22:07:00 +0000

Among the sea of faces, you search for your face with,
Irises widened with joy and moist with tears of joy.
Running open armed like the ship you just debarked from,
Pushing aside black, white, brown bags and baggage.
Overcoming the multiple obstacles marathon, and
Rounding up all the scattered possessions.
Travel tired , taste buds on verge of collapse, and trip tourney on mind, leaving
Surf , sand and snow behind .. crashing into those lovely bones ..you are home !!

Written on 30th December, 2010.

( I had my fair share of airports these past few days and they are delightful places not only because of all the duty free shops but the variety of human experiences you get to witness.For someone who likes to observe people it was great fun. I saw tears of sadness, joy and love, and you can spend hours just watching. Till we meet again .. a very Happy New Year .. Hope it brings joy to all your lives. Adios !! :)