Silence speaks

Silence speaks in the quiet ruins of life,
In the rustle of the autumn leaves;

Silence speaks when promises run dry,
When a fragile heart the world deceives;

Silence speaks through shattered dreams,
When tears roll like flooded streams;

Silence speaks when the lights go out,
and the lone candle shivers in the wind;

Silence speaks when fears feast,
When dread shreds the core to bits;

Silence speaks when the map's lost,
When paths colludes to hurt not heal;

Silence speaks when the sun goes down,
When clouds are stolen of their silver sheen;

Silence speaks when every voice is doused,
but for the leaping flames of chaos within.

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)

Peekaboo with Ruli

Out of breath, Namita dropped her bulging duffle bag on the bench, pulled out the water bottle from her daypack and emptied it in a few long swigs. Beads of sweat lined her forehead. Twenty more minutes and she’d have missed the train home. The traffic jam leading to the station had sucked the life out of her. 

Namita sat on the bench and was about to grab an energy bar, when another wave of panic washed over her. Hope there was no change in the platform number. She’d checked it online and it showed the train to Howrah, West Bengal would depart from platform 6. But what if an announcement was made that she missed? Namita’s eyes wildly searched for the digital display board.

There was one to her left but a short distance away. Namita hastily walked up to the board and matched the details on the screen with the ticket. Reassured, she returned to the bench where she’d left her bag only to be greeted by two twinkling eyes and a set of high pigtails tied with yellow bows. The instant Namita made eye contact, the little peanut broke into a disarming smile. Comfortably perched on her mother’s lap, the sweetpea was all playful. Namita adored children and here she was getting exclusive attention.

Initiating a little game, Namita placed her hands in front of her face to cut the view. And then to a count of five, she removed them and called out 'peekaboo!!' The hazel-eyed beauty burst into a torrent of giggles. She was so cute, Namita could eat her with a spoon. It was joy unalloyed. After a few rounds of hide and reveal, Namita couldn’t resist asking the toddler's mother, who'd just got off a phone call, her name.

Ruli had dissolved all her anxiety. The energy bar, thought Namita, could wait its turn to come to her rescue.    

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Noodle Doodle

I love food art, especially the kind where the kitchen ingredients discreetly come together to present a surprisingly pretty picture. When the pandemic put a pause to our ever-swirling lives, I was delighted to discover many little perishable artworks in my cooking hub. My senses suddenly had more time to soak in the surroundings, to catch beyond the obvious.

Home alone, I was probably looking for signs of life even in the inanimate. Veggies chopped at certain angles looked like a parade squad, while a bundle of coriander leaves propped up against the kitchen counter mimicked a drooping tree. One day the spread resembled a party on the plate and on another, an offering of chaotic comfort.

On a balmy afternoon, I just couldn’t take my eyes off a handful of baby corns sliced into little circular coins. Against the bright red of the chopping board, they looked like a scatter of tiny yellow flowers. And then the tomato that opened its strawberry-shaped heart, like literally, when chopped into two.

Here’s another of the pandemic musings on my plate.  I captioned it ‘The Noodle Doodle’.

ART IN THE ORDINARY: The Noodle Doodle

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)

Memories cold

Shaili sat by the light of the reading lamp, lost in Motherless Daughters. Every page was like a dagger to her heart and yet she wouldn’t put the book down. She was convinced the book had found her to untie the knots of her raucous thoughts that’d so often turn monstrous, defeat her, drown her and then savagely fling her ashore to go figure another day without her mother. It was rinse and repeat for ten searing years. No, the words did not clam the storm within. Maybe, just maybe, they gave the tempest a course.   

A gentle zephyr rushed in through the window, as if to check on her, offer her a healing hug. Why was she so cold tonight? A lump or two rose to Shaili’s throat. But no, she couldn’t fall apart. She had to turn another page, no matter how hard. To think a book could blow her into smithereens and yet offer solace like a shred of sunlight breaking through the darkest hour? Shaili was stunned.    

A college-goer, Shaili always had a title or two on her, especially when in community spaces. They were her smoothest escapes from all kinds of fluff. But never Motherless Daughters. The title opened her wounds without permission. The world didn’t have to see her scars. There could be no cracks in the strong-woman façade.

Only the night knew her plight. Only the night could keep the world out of sight. While Shaili stared blankly at the empty wall facing her, a short burst of wind turned over a few pages. It was sign that she’d shattered enough for the night. Shaili placed the bookmark, a postcard from her mother, in between the pages, closed the book, and gently kept it aside. Blanketed in memories cold, she crawled into her bed. The book didn’t hold answers to all her questions, but she dozed off in the arms of dream knowing her feelings were no less valid, that others too had fault in their stars. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)

Kind to all kinds

An army of ants paraded in a single file dodging two shiny little shoes. Frothing out of a burrow at the foot of a golden shower tree, the mini marchers hauled food crumbs, insect parts, seeds and grains, and plant fibers on their inconspicuous shoulders.

Fascinated, Siri watched in rapt attention. This was among her favourite activities in Miss Hope’s Friday sessions, Tattle with Nature, under a canopy of trees in the school’s rose garden. The bugs, the bees, the birds, the butterflies, all flew in and out of the open-air class. The crawlers found a seat too, and the squirrels appeared in short bursts.

Perched next to Miss Hope, Siri’s mind went out on a stroll. She had seen similar ant cavalcades at home too, around the potted plants on the veranda, probing the sugar and jaggery jars in the kitchen, trying to invade the confectionery boxes brought in by guests. “Like me, do they also have a sweet tooth?” she paused to ponder and grinned under her breath.

In Tattle with Nature, Miss Hope simply let the little explorers be. The children knew how to busy themselves. And certainly, they had a thousand things to relay back to their teacher. However, every session ended with a lesson. And today it was on kindness. “Children, always remember one thing. We have to be kind to all kinds. If you see a stray pup, feed it some biscuits. Leave a bowl of water in your backyard for the thirsty birds. And yes, don’t just pluck a flower, pet it gently and let the blooming beauty be,” said Miss Hope.

Though engrossed, Siri was all ears. As the ants soldiered on, she finally budged and cautiously moved her shoes to the left, making an easier passage for the ever slogging six-legged workers.

“Be kind to all kinds…” Siri just showed how it's done.

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)

 

Jessi’s lunchbox

It was the first class of the morning. On other days, Jessi would be grouchy, her cheeks bloated like two ripe tomatoes, brows scrunched, and eyes dozy. But today she looked like a tiny human version of the sun, her face gleaming with a naughty smile. She was unusually active, though least attentive.

Two rows away, her besties, Tia and Ziva, could barely sit still. The three fleetingly locked eyes and gulped some giggles. Miss Wormwood, their class teacher, had caught the mute exchanges. Peering over the glasses placed on the bridge of her nose, she thundered: “Attention girls!” Jessi, Tia and Ziva promptly straightened their shoulders and looked at the blackboard, their thoughts bobbing all over.

By the end of the third period, the girls could barely contain their excitement. When would the bell go off? Why wasn’t it break time yet? “Don’t forget to eat well, sleep well and finish your homework. Right, class!” Miss Diaz’s honeyed words wafted into their ears. Miss Diaz always spoke with affection and her class was Jessi’s favourite 45 minutes in school. But today she wished for even this to fast-forward.

And, finally, after what seemed like an unending hour, the bell rang. Today, Jessi didn’t mind the ear-ripping 10-second shrill trill. As soon as the other kids trooped out of the classroom grabbing their lunchboxes, Jessi, Tia and Ziva rushed to form a huddle.  It was time for the big reveal and out came Jessi’s minion-print lunchbox. She carefully unclipped the box and placed it at the center on the floor. A heart, a dinosaur, a bunny, a monkey, and a fish, all stared back from the container! For a few seconds, Tia and Ziva gaped in wonder. And then, without a word, the three spilled over with laughter.

“See what else I have got here,” whispered Jessi. “Mummy's cookie cutters. I grabbed them when she wasn’t looking and pressed them over the sandwiches she’d prepared for me,” she chuckled and picked up the heart. "This, I will take home for mummy."

The box was emptied in the next ten minutes, the bunny in Jessi's tummy. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)

Invisible ink

Even the sun goes to bed hoping to rise and shine again

Destinies, I suppose, are dyed with invisible ink to give hope a foot in the door. Each day thus opens as a blank page and closes with the script revealing itself a little more. Yellow to grey, the palette changes every day.

What if at birth you got a precap of your time under the sun? Would that make you happy? Would that even be fun? Would then the cinders of hope ever stand a chance?

In the ocean of pain, it’s always hope that frantically waves from the shoreline to say things will be fine again. Like the baby that fumbles and falls but never tires of standing up anew, hope too walks in the same shoes.   

The invisible ink has already put a fullstop to our stories somewhere. The day, the hour, the minute, the moment, it's all been put together.  But till we get there, we are all just surfing on hope. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)  

Hashtag(#)OneNewFollower

 

After a refreshing swim with daddy, Trish was turbocharged. He rushed through a post-swim shower and change of clothes and promptly hopped on to his electric blue tricycle parked by the poolside. It was time to go racing with his playmates Tittu and Nishu, who were already screaming their lungs out calling his name. All preschoolers, the three were a riot together.

The pool was their start point and a big mango tree near the clubhouse the finish mark. Their moms had chosen that small stretch after ensuring it was vehicle free. The race would meander through many stops and starts - “Wait Nishu. You can’t begin before us.” “Trish, look what I have in my pocket.” “Wait wait guys! My shoes have come off.” The whole activity was as endearing as their boisterous banter. The three would squeal all the way, bursting into titters over some silly jokes.

Today, Nishu had taken the lead. Bubbling with joy, she kept turning around to check if the two had caught up. The boys, meanwhile, pedaled hard to close the gap, chattering no less. But moments ahead of reaching the finish line, someone else sprang out of the bushes and claimed the crown. Nishu was jolted for a bit. Trish and Tittu brought their cycles to a shaky halt. It was intro time.

The three parked their vehicles and shushing one another, softly walked up to the day’s new winner, a tubby kitten with shiny marble eyes. The little fellow had a cinnamon-colour coat and trilled incessantly, its wiggly tail sticking straight up. “Let’s call her Muffin,” said Trish. “Muffin? Will we eat her or what?” giggled Nishu. No one asked Muffin, but it seemed like she took an instant liking to the guffawing gang.

Next day onwards, Muffin timed her outing with the three musketeers. She followed them on her furry fours, stomping, sprinting and playfully pouncing on her new-found friends. A week later, Trish went up to his mom after play hours and made a kingly announcement: "Mumma, guess what? I have one new follower."   

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)  

Gratitude journey

What a delightful confluence it was. Retired army man Nitin Nambiar and his twin granddaughters, Ria and Rai, shared the same birthday, just sixty years apart. Every year, the Nambiar household erupted in a triple mousse cake celebration on January 15, top tier for grandpa and the other two for the twins. Just like the cake, the three were inseparable.

The trio had almost completed another spin round the sun. In two days, the gigglemugs would turn six and their appachan, 66. Both Ria and Rai had their best buddy in appachan. For the family, they were like triplets, the three were so tight.

This time, appachan had planned a little something for his munchkins, apart from the world’s best hug and two identical candy pouches, which was tradition. A day prior, he walked into a nearby stationery boutique and asked for the aisle containing notebooks, diaries, and journals. After carefully sifting through the items on display, Mr Nambiar found just what he had in mind. Two pocket-sized powder pink notebooks with faded floral doodle designs.

Without wasting another minute, he picked up two pieces of the notebook. They had to be gift wrapped, but before that there was something else to be done. Mr Nambiar asked for a glitter pen at the billing counter and on the first page of each, in bold cursive wrote, ‘HAPPY HOPPERS’.

The annual day of triple delight, like always, was peppered with celebrations. From a special breakfast comprising appam (thin pancakes) and chicken stew, to a lunch outing and the mandatory evening mousse cake ritual, the hours brimmed with joy and laughter.

As the day wound down, the girls popped their heads through the curtains in appachan’s room. The candy pouches and hugs were always saved for last. Appachan scooped the two up in his arms and gave both the world’s best hug. Then out came the candy pouches. But wait! It wasn't yet over. 

Appachan pulled the drawer attached to his study and smiled. Turning to Ria and Rai, who were goofing around on his bed, he asked them to hop over. Handing out the gift-wrapped notebooks, he told his tweedledum and tweedledee, “Appachan will want to see these notebooks once a week, alright? What you have got to do, my dears, is to write as many things as you can think of that made you happy, super happy or even a teeny bit happy that week.”

Grabbing their gifts, Ria and Rai giggled with glee, little knowing that their dear appachan had, from that moment, set them off on a gratitude journey.  

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Fireside festoons

Rebeca’s eyes bore into the depths of the starlit sky, the tranquil night sitting by her side. A little away to her right, the pages of a diary fluttered, romancing the breeze in the light-out hours.

Her friends had returned to their tents after a campfire cookout. The music, the chatter, the giggles, and snuggles had all receded, but Rebeca longed to sit by the dying fire. As the popping embers wafted up in the air and merged into the darkness, she hugged her knees and rested her head on them.

The colourful paper festoons strung up between the trees on the periphery of the green meadow whistled with the wind, swooshing and swaying in complete abandon. What a carefree life they must have known. And then to be part of such an ethereal orchestra. Rebeca softly shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. As she let the lungful linger, every cell of her being came alive.

 Plucking out a few strands of grass, Rebeca caught a note from her younger years and began to hum. “I sent a letter to my mother. On the way I dropped it…” How much she had loved this song back in school. Stray but fond memories washed ashore. Staying with her musings, she stretched out for the diary, pulled it closer and settled on one of its pages. But then she had no pen on her.

Even as the heavens watched, Rebeca whipped out a long-stalked vibrant red rose and carefully placed the flower, still soft and dewy, between the unscathed white pages. She then gently shut the diary and drew it to her bosom. Was it just a flower or a feeling she had pressed between the pages of her favourite diary? Who could tell? Maybe the star-lit firmament gazing from above? 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Envelope unpeeled

Jaya’s breathing grew laboured. Was the finish line appearing in sight? Subodh, her husband, sat beside her on a backstool, gently stroking her hair, his other hand clasping hers. Her skin felt warm; life was still on. But how long? Wasn't the ink fading?   

Rolling her prayer beads, Jaya’s mother sat on the other side of the bed, her world-weary eyes betraying no emotion. In a quick span of five years, she had lost her husband and her son. And now to be living through this. At the far end of the room, partially masked by a view-cutter, stood Neelu. It felt like a gut punch seeing her mother lying in a tangle of wires and tubes, only skin and bones. She stood there transfixed, till Jaya lifted her hand, gesturing to her to come closer.

Jaya reached under her pillow and with much difficulty, pulled out an envelope. Subodh offered to help, but she declined. Everything around was turning into a blur, except for Neelu, whose face emerged close to hers. Wish the chapters of life could be rehearsed, thought Jaya, offering her distraught daughter a faint smile. Slightly raising her hands, she nodded at Neelu. This time Maa needed a hug.

Neelu rested her head on Jaya’s chest; she could feel her beating heart. A dread washed over her. The clock was ticking? How long would the music last? Jaya shut tight her moist eyes. Tears rolled down Neelu’s cheeks, soaking the hospital gown her mother was wearing. Her head was humming with questions to which, she knew, she’d never have the answers.

After what felt like the last of eternity, Neelu lifted her head. The nurse had come to check Jaya’s vitals. Nothing but a routine assessment, more to tick the boxes on the patient card. Doctors had already given their verdict. Neelu carefully pulled the envelope out of her mother’s grasp.

Twenty years had passed since that evening when her life was brutally recast. But Neelu hadn’t yet opened the envelope. Across continents and countries, she carried it with her. 

That night when Neelu’s mother passed away, all that the teenager had to cling on to life was that precious blue envelope. But just when she thought she’d open it, she noticed it had been sealed with tiny blobs of tears. That instant Neelu decided never to peel it open. She'd preserve the last insignia of her tangible bond with her mother.    

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

 

 

Dear dream

It was one of those days that had wrung Dorothy out. A mid-term paper, and that too math, a hospital run, an hour of babysitting her twin nieces, and then a friend’s engagement party. She had ticked them all off and was now ready to drop.  

The last ounce of energy out, Dorothy dragged herself into her studio apartment, flopped on the bed, patches of makeup on, clothes on, even the tired sneakers on. The wine from the party had provoked a headache and she wanted a gulp of water. But the sipper on the kitchen counter felt too much of an effort. Under the hum of the ceiling fan, her eyelids grew heavier than falling bricks.

As her closing thoughts rippled out, Dorothy pulled up her duvet of dreams and melted into a far-off frame. It was a night flooded in moonlight and she was seated in a convertible, her arms stretched out, a mellow breeze blowing her curls. The car was snaking through an unpaved road in the midst of a ripe maize field. Dorothy could feel the warmth of intimacy as her fingers grazed against the hand on the gears, strong and rugged. The scent was familiar, the music among her favorite. But who was this person at the wheel?

Silly banters, peals of laughter and yet there was no face reveal. As Dorothy turned sides, the dream began to dissolve. Oh no! She was desperate to latch onto it. But the alarm had gone off, yanking her back to reality. Eclipsed by a sense of longing, she made a last-ditch attempt to again get drawn in by sleep. But that was not to be.

Dorothy sat up, her head still pounding. Who was this person at the wheel? The dream had concealed more than it revealed. She felt hollow. As the day stretched out from morning to noon and beyond, all she wished for was a sequel to it. May be on another day filled to the gills, when sleep would take her over to complete the picture of her dreams.      

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Canvas of memories

 

Unsure but willing, she gingerly lifted the paint brush. And on cue, little Clara went up on her toes to offer Mrs Martini the palette of colours. Life is not always palatable, but that doesn't mean you don’t taste it twice, thought Mrs Martini, as she paused to pick out from a splattering of blue, green, red, orange, white, and yellow, all streaming into a puddle of hues. 

The octogenarian had gathered with her 5 grandchildren -- Kevin, Robbie, Stella, Stacy, and Clara – for an evening of musings and banter. The kids had planned it all and granny's time was blocked days in advance. No other adult was allowed in the room. There were only five tickets to 'Grannyverse'.

It was the Sunday before Christmas. No sooner the clock struck 5, Stacy and Clara appeared to receive granny in her room. 'Granny, drop whatever it is you are doing," Stacy affectionately ordered, turning Mrs Martini towards her. Clara held out a satin sash with glittering gold borders. 'You Are Our Grannyverse', read the words in cursive. Mrs Martini bent forward and Clara draped it for her, albeit with some effort. The sisters together led Mrs Martini to the room where the others had already gathered.

Kevin, Robbie and Stella had meticulously worked out the details of their date night with granny. A petal shower, followed by a round of storytelling -- ‘oral memories drawn from the lofts of time’ as granny would put it – a cake and cookie binge, and finally a dabble with colours, each one in the room leaving an imprint on the ‘Canvas of Memories’ placed on an easel.

And now it was Mrs Martini’s turn. What could she draw? “Come on, granny. You have got to do this. We aren't saying goodnight otherwise,” said Robbie with a toothy grin. Stella put an arm around Mrs Martini’s bony shoulders and whispered in her ear: “We love you, granny and how much!” Planting a peck on Stella's cheek and ruffling Kevin's hair, Mrs Martini smeared the brush with red, a small amount of orange, and a hint of white and lifted her hand to draw a wobbly heart. "My fading but throbbing heart," thought Mrs Martini as she completed the strokes and slowly put down the brush.

 Turning to her grandkids, she drew them all into a giant hug, little Clara squashed in the great huddle. “You, my dears, have a home each in my heart. And thank you, honeybuns! My heart will pulsate with memories of this evening fondly and forever,” said Mrs Martini, her eyes glazing with tears. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Bambi and his bestie

Poppins could feel something tender and moist sniffing at her toes. It was Bambi, the adorable mess of a pup, who’d mastered the art of pawing his way into her room, no permission sought. Bambi would wait no more than a minute or two before getting on to the bed to wake up his bestie. Why it was already time to play fetch! 

The pawsome friendship began one summer noon. Poppins had just finished school and was tarrying at the gate, waiting for aunt Suzi who’d walk her home. Glancing at her watch, Suzi paced up to Poppins and greeted her with a quick cuddle. She removed the bunny bag from Poppins’s shoulders and took her little hand in hers.

It was a Friday, and a visit to the ice cream parlour was due. Aunt Suzi had promised Poppins her favourite gelato. A few steps out of school, something spritely bounced up behind the two. The little fella had clearly picked his favourite. Who else, but Poppins. Bambi circled around her, stomping at her feet, tailing her at every step, tripping her even. Poppings dodged for a bit, but Bambi snuggled around. The pup wore his heart on his forehead, a strawberry-shaped white patch right between two googly eyes. His body was all brown and the four white paws looked like he had the booties on.

When Poppins and Suzi entered the ice cream booth, Bambi parked himself at the door. He was happy to rest for a bit, his eyes pinned on Poppins. That afternoon he followed them home. And just like the gelato, Poppins’s heart melted. “Mumma, meet Bambi. Bambi meet mumma,” declared Poppins. The new member had to be formally introduced. “Bambi? Did we not meet him only an hour back? You’ve got him a name already,” exclaimed aunt Suzi.  Bambi stood there looking distracted, a little flustered and sheepishly meeting eyes with the adults in the room.

Bambi had to do little to impress. Poppins was adamant on having her new friend home. That evening, mumma and Poppins sat together to make Bambi his first toy, a colourful rope ball. 

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge) 

Attu’s umbrella

 

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Attu’s eyes constantly flitted to something she’d placed underneath her frock that spread around her in a little circle. A smile played on her lips, even as her mother fed her morsels of the day’s last meal, a mash of watery lentil soup and coarse rice. It didn’t matter to Attu what she was eating. When Amma fed her, every bite was delectable.  

Amma thought they were Attu’s favourite stones with which she and her friend Guddi played tic-tac-toe on a dry patch of land adjacent to their hut. They’d draw the grids with dry stalks plucked from a  mango tree nearby and frolic around till sundown. Attu had painted the stones in bright yellow and red and took great care not to misplace them. But no, they weren’t the stones. Something else had caught her fancy.

Amma and Attu locked eyes across a mischievous silence, the ember glow of the dying woodfire on which dinner was readied, taking the space in its warm embrace. It had been raining all day and the clouds looked unrelenting. “What are you up to, Attu? What do you have there beside you,” asked Amma. Attu squinted in glee and even let out a giggle. But she wouldn’t utter a word. It was her little dinner time secret that would pop out only after the last bite. Attu again sneaked a look to her left, this time with great love.

Amma’s eyes suddenly swelled with tears. An evening storm followed by heavy rain had brought down the electric pole. Their modest dwelling had descended into darkness and Amma was thankful for it. Sitting across each other under candle light, her little girl wouldn’t have caught her tears; she quickly blinked them back. Attu gulped down the last bite in a hurry and squealed, “Amma, see this.” She pulled out an umbrella and Amma immediately recognized it. It was the same umbrella her employer had given her earlier in the day, a worn-out piece, torn in many places.

Attu had only known banana leaves for umbrellas, available in plenty all around her hut. This one was a big deal. She flung open the polka-dotted brolly, jolting Amma out of her daze. “Amma, can I take this to school tomorrow,” she asked with pleading puppy eyes. “Attu, this has many holes in it. It won’t save you from rain, my dear. Let me first stitch it for you,” replied Amma. Attu peeked out of the open umbrella, flashed a broad smile and gushed: “Amma, just how I can see you through the holes here, I will have the sun streaming down on me when it stops raining. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

Filled with despair, Amma smiled. Her six-year-old heartbeat had learned to fend for herself the little joys of life. That night Attu went to bed a tad too excited and even slipped out a little prayer. Amma gazed out the window at the night sky; the clouds rumbled. She pulled a sheet over Attu and kissed her goodnight.

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)