Stolen moments of joy

bothered with what the world might think.

I remember some of stolen moments of joy. Some years ago, my
office was nearby and I used to walk to office. Once it was noon time and I had
gone home for lunch. I take a shortcut that takes me through a playground. Noontime,
it was empty. There were the most sought after swings empty and beckoning me
with its seductive movement. I obeyed its call. I sat on the swing and was a
child once more. It was maybe for 20 minutes or so. But even today it brings
back the pure undiluted joy within me as I felt the wind kiss my face …

I felt again that joy one weekend when I played pakda pakdi with my daughter. I was the
spinach eating popeye chasing the pirate across the sea. I ran behind my
daughter with sweat streaming down my back. Parents in the garden watched me,
some with curiosity and some-I like to think- with envy.

Isn’t it better to steal those moments out of time than
remain envious and sigh if only…?

The Tree Limb Girl  

I stood watching the road below. The breezy clime and wintry atmosphere makes one stand on longer than one would normally.  Nature at her best in a city that is always at its worst; one shower does wonders to the atmosphere. It suddenly looks so clean. The trees washed clean and displaying their green hues. Also, one can see afar as compared to the limited vision afforded by the previous foggy environment.

She caught my gaze at once. There she stood on the limb of a tree balancing a long stick skillfully, elegantly as a street side player. One dainty leg over one gnarled tree limb while I waited for the crash that never came. She was occupied in knocking off some guavas from the tree. She knocked out ripe guavas from the tree with a long bamboo stick. They lay scattered around on the ground while she continued searching for more.  

The lady on the tree had snugly tucked the saree pallu between her legs and secured it on her waistband so that she could adroitly climb the tree and not let the elegant folds of the saree come in the way of her exercise. The fruits, what I could see from my high vantage point, didn’t seem ripe or big. There was another lady below the tree picking up the fallen fruits. She had a small child of her own. One year maybe since the child could totter around on its own.

When sufficient number of guavas had been felled she got down. The women gathered the fruits together and began eating. I felt that they belonged in that scene much more than I ever could. Climbing trees and eating fallen fruits does go against the urban genteelness. I wondered who they were. Then as I left the building complex, I noticed that the watchman was also around.

They were the construction workers in the same compound who came to fill water in their plastic drums. They belonged here temporarily and yet I could think of none who were more at home and belonged as much as them.

A Bite of a Different Kind

“What happened?”

He sat gingerly clutching his shoulder. I could see a bandage across his collar bone.

A monosyllable man, he was to the point.

“Hit”

“Ohh! u got hit by a cricket ball?”

Alright I have an imagination, but if one gets hit and that too on the collar bone it’s logical to think it’s from a cricket ball, na? Otherwise there is one more explanation.

My friends disagree and blame my overactive imagination. But let’s go on further.

“No. It’s just hit.”

I still am not satisfied.

“Yes. But hit by what?”

“Its just hit.”

“Love bite? No? Then hit by what?”

A few more of such conversations and I can pretend to be a gramophone with the needle stuck in the groove.

“Mangoes”

“Hit by mangoes?!”

He nodded with a smile.

I imagined him walking through an orchard and getting showered with mangoes; Nah that doesn’t make sense at all. Love bite makes more sense.

But before I could repeat the previous sentence, he volunteered.

“I got a heat boil. Ate mangoes, lots of them. Got this huge boil. Had to get it surgically ruptured, cleaned and bandaged.”

Is that all? You have let me down! Love bite is so much more adventurous than a mango bite, na?  

 Alright, blame my colorful imagination.

Whispy Thoughts...  

Wispy thoughts wander around in my head all the time. Some times I am able to pluck them and put them on to paper. String them along on paper till they take a life on their own. Other times its sheer torture as I watch them dizzy me with its rain dance and then dim away to certain death.

I wish I captured all my ideas and do not have to write this post. In a way its an ode to my ideas that never came to life because I chose to be more concerned with mundane life than sit closeted with a pen and paper. 

First Day in School

I sat with my daughter in her class, first day of school at Senior Kg.  It was very noisy and all the children ran pell mell around. There were few parents around otherwise most of the children seemed to be on their own. I sat with my angel in the class. Slowly parents began moving out of the class.

Then the teacher came in. I took out the note pad to jot down the important reminders that have to last through the year. It never happened. She beckoned me close and asked me what I was doing in the class. Before I could explain about mother-daughter bonding and importance of self esteem and all that, she began.

“This is Senior kindergarten class. Children must get used to attending class without parents. You have to leave the classroom.”

 Reluctantly I gathered my bags and made my way out. Just then most of the children started crying. I felt like Mother Teresa as I waved a bye to all of them, especially my little pixie who was smiling ear to ear. I made my teary wobbly way out of the school.

Sigh, Children! How easy it is for these little ones to tug at our delicate heart strings.

Laughter

Does laughter make a difference

In this world, here and now?

Masking beneath its benevolent glow

Fears, tears raging below,

Does life change then

For the better or for the worse?

Well, mine did make a difference

My cheeks hurts so.

Working Mother

I espied upon her, a proud mother with her brood. She stood ramrod straight and regal. Her kids gathered around her, busy suckling her nipples. I watched her looking out at the gathering crowd as genteel dawn was chased away by rowdy business like sun rays.

As the commuters increased in the throughway, she walked away into the inner nooks taking her children with her. She might be a bitch but her concern for the safety of her kids stood her in stead. For me, that regal one stood neck to neck with any struggling working mother in the city.

Philosophy


Is this for losers? Someone who has lost and is desperately trying to find a reason to justify the loss…

I find myself being pretty blasé about loses because of the belief that there is more to life than small loses here and there. After all it’s important to win the war even if that means we have to sometimes lose the small battles here and there.

Now I am beginning to question this attitude of mine. Was this brought about because of my non aggression and wanting a label that was well, less unflattering?

Philosophy to justify why I didn’t get something when I should have? I don’t know. However this very philosophy altered my perceptions and saved the day for me.

Yesterday I felt like there was nothing left for me anywhere. I was in a cesspool from where there seemed no way out or in. There was a restive restlessness within. I spoke to a friend of mine and she set me free. All she said was:
When you feel stagnant and feel that all doors are closing in, remember to pay attention. For another door is opening for you. That is the law of nature. Hark for the change in your life and take control.

So, in the end this very philosophy made my day.  

You guys been through such phase too?
 

Mere Words – Part 2

From one drop spun another.

While on honeymoon with S we happened to meet a group of French tourists. They asked S something, he replied back. They all nodded their head and laughed and patted his back and walked off.

I was mighty impressed and wanted to know what he told them. S sheepishly lets out: They asked him something and he responded with, “I do not know French.”

An entire sentence just to say that we don’t know something? I will never understand the French and for that matter the Nepalis.

I had a colleague, a Nepali married to an Indian. It was during my courting days with S and I cajoled her into teaching me how to say I love you in Nepali.  

Maa tumilai dherai maya dhar chu

 Quite a whopper but I managed to master it with actions.

Before I unleashed it on my unsuspecting beau I wanted to test it on our Gurkha downstairs. That luckily never came about. I am sure that I saved him a heart attack.

My verbal outpouring left my beau tad unmoved and he managed to get my attention into more interesting things like the latest block buster running in the theatre.

 
But those were the days. Playing and tripping with words.

Mere Words

It was a somber moment. All stood silent as they waited for him to speak. He was leaving the organization for better prospects.  We gave him a going away gift and waited to hear the regular “such a pleasure to work here”

“sad to leave here” etc etc etc

He began like that and then pauses and mentions, “Now I have a very important announcement to make…” We became attentive. “All those who owe me money please return it by today evening.”

That was enough to dispel the seriousness and the atmosphere relaxed once more as we cracked up. Funny na how mere words can lighten up the atmosphere. Never underestimate the power of words.