Our day starts with the current affairs, as a matter of routine or as a result of peer pressure push, many of us make sure we are our newsy best everyday, to feel in place and to sound sound. For quite sometime my life has become a 'current of affairs'. And to share it with my blog log I have put down some of them, you never know, the points might teach you without being preachy!
Current observation: Personal bonding works, yes even in the professional world
Current motto: Try, try till you succeed
Current style: Obsolete
Current hunt: some life
Current place: My rooftop
Current delicacy: Not one to mention
Current friends: Where have they all gone?
Current Office: Hindustan Times
Current fever: Facebook and photgraphy
Current feeling: Sab bakwaas hai
Current bad habit: Eating out whenever possible
Current Vision: Hazy and obscure...
Current state: The bubble has burst
Current obsession: Become a polyglot
Current book: Wren and Martin
Current lesson: Never be a Yes-man
Current life: Meeting deadlines
Current fave phrase: Call spade a spade
Current fear: A life of an unfulfilled dream
Current support: Patience, prayers and some work in the right direction
THANK YOU ERAM
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
No words to title this
I am yet to come to terms to the fact that she is not there and I would no longer be able to hear her sweet voice hanging heavy with intelligent words. I would also miss the loving snubs she used to subject her husband to.
And I would always miss that calm face of her, with a pair of glasses resting on her nose while she used to be busy reading anything, which you and I would call literature, clutched between her fingers. Just when you would think she was too busy with her date with literature, and should not be disturbed, she would surprise you with her motherly concern about you.
As a child I still remember those loving pan cakes and poori kachauri she used to pack for me along with Amit dada and then Shishu dada and later with anybody visiting us from Allahabad. There wasn’t anything great about those pan cakes, pooris or kachauris for me as a 10-year-old. It was more about the excitement of receiving that parcel of love and affection from a woman who always inspired me without even saying anything inspiring to me as such. It was her persona that always made me feel so. At an age, when kids love to visit grandparents in holidays, I would just do all to rush to Allahabad to be with her and other, almost double my age. And this was when I had my loving nana-nani very much in lucknow, where I could easily go to spend time and be pampered and have a blast with several kids of my age. But I would always choose Allahabad. I owe the little streaks of literature that I have to her and the time spent in Allahabad.
I always had a reason to be in Allahabad. I still remember how I used to fight with my elder sister who most of the disinterestedly used to accompany me rather I would say, take me to Allahabad. As I wasn’t old enough to be sent all by myself, she used to be my guardian. And I hated that. Anyway, those vacations always ended in a snap of a finger. And never during those days, was I reminded of my parents or my friends in Lucknow. Such was the charisma of her and that house.
My parents never objected to my desire of spending time with her in Allahabad and that made my belief stronger and always made me feel confident that I was doing the right thing.
My father, not an emotionally expressive man, always somehow made my belief stronger that if I was not admiring her for her entire personality, I was missing out on something. He never, at least in front of me, ever expressed the respect and love he had for her, but I could make it out every time he tried to hide it. The last time I saw his love and respect for her was when at about 3:30 in the morning, all of us were sleeping and I received a call from Amit dada, who shared a piece of news, which could not let us sleep thereafter. I saw my father’s face and I was amazed to see that there was no sign of sleep on his face. He simply looked at me while I was blabbering out the phone conversation to all in the house. He just did not react, he slipped into his blanket and kept on looking at the ceiling, as if he could see beyond that. I could also not see a tear rolling down his eyes, just like my mother, sister and wife. It was surprising but also reassured me that yes, I too respect that woman whom my father respects so much.
Anyway, getting back to my expression, I would say the admiration was mutual. She loved me equally and surprisingly would share with me her joys and sorrows. I was lucky to have got a chance to stay with her continuously for three months and I got know her all the more and the affection increased manifold. We used to chat for long till late in the night and the topic of discussion could be anything. We would then wake up, sip tea and again chat for long. When it would be time for me to leave for office at random shift timings, she would ensure that I eat before I step out of the house. And Seema, the house maid, would only champion the former’s cause.
In the evening, when I would return, she would again ensure that I get to sip a nice cup of tea and would then ask me to share the day’s routine, if it was worth being discussed.
Despite carrying her in such a fashion that would easily make anybody take her as the queen of orthodox, she would surprise many with her awareness levels and broad-minded outlook. She could gel in just any crowd. I am sure, wherever she is, or is about to reach, she would leave the crowd enchanted.
Let me know if you come across her. She is my shammo bua.
And I would always miss that calm face of her, with a pair of glasses resting on her nose while she used to be busy reading anything, which you and I would call literature, clutched between her fingers. Just when you would think she was too busy with her date with literature, and should not be disturbed, she would surprise you with her motherly concern about you.
As a child I still remember those loving pan cakes and poori kachauri she used to pack for me along with Amit dada and then Shishu dada and later with anybody visiting us from Allahabad. There wasn’t anything great about those pan cakes, pooris or kachauris for me as a 10-year-old. It was more about the excitement of receiving that parcel of love and affection from a woman who always inspired me without even saying anything inspiring to me as such. It was her persona that always made me feel so. At an age, when kids love to visit grandparents in holidays, I would just do all to rush to Allahabad to be with her and other, almost double my age. And this was when I had my loving nana-nani very much in lucknow, where I could easily go to spend time and be pampered and have a blast with several kids of my age. But I would always choose Allahabad. I owe the little streaks of literature that I have to her and the time spent in Allahabad.
I always had a reason to be in Allahabad. I still remember how I used to fight with my elder sister who most of the disinterestedly used to accompany me rather I would say, take me to Allahabad. As I wasn’t old enough to be sent all by myself, she used to be my guardian. And I hated that. Anyway, those vacations always ended in a snap of a finger. And never during those days, was I reminded of my parents or my friends in Lucknow. Such was the charisma of her and that house.
My parents never objected to my desire of spending time with her in Allahabad and that made my belief stronger and always made me feel confident that I was doing the right thing.
My father, not an emotionally expressive man, always somehow made my belief stronger that if I was not admiring her for her entire personality, I was missing out on something. He never, at least in front of me, ever expressed the respect and love he had for her, but I could make it out every time he tried to hide it. The last time I saw his love and respect for her was when at about 3:30 in the morning, all of us were sleeping and I received a call from Amit dada, who shared a piece of news, which could not let us sleep thereafter. I saw my father’s face and I was amazed to see that there was no sign of sleep on his face. He simply looked at me while I was blabbering out the phone conversation to all in the house. He just did not react, he slipped into his blanket and kept on looking at the ceiling, as if he could see beyond that. I could also not see a tear rolling down his eyes, just like my mother, sister and wife. It was surprising but also reassured me that yes, I too respect that woman whom my father respects so much.
Anyway, getting back to my expression, I would say the admiration was mutual. She loved me equally and surprisingly would share with me her joys and sorrows. I was lucky to have got a chance to stay with her continuously for three months and I got know her all the more and the affection increased manifold. We used to chat for long till late in the night and the topic of discussion could be anything. We would then wake up, sip tea and again chat for long. When it would be time for me to leave for office at random shift timings, she would ensure that I eat before I step out of the house. And Seema, the house maid, would only champion the former’s cause.
In the evening, when I would return, she would again ensure that I get to sip a nice cup of tea and would then ask me to share the day’s routine, if it was worth being discussed.
Despite carrying her in such a fashion that would easily make anybody take her as the queen of orthodox, she would surprise many with her awareness levels and broad-minded outlook. She could gel in just any crowd. I am sure, wherever she is, or is about to reach, she would leave the crowd enchanted.
Let me know if you come across her. She is my shammo bua.
AND THAT IS DYING
I AM ON THE SEASHORE AND BESIDE ME A SHIP RAISES HER WHITE SAILS TO THE MORNING BREEZE AND SETS OUT ACROSS THE BLUE OCEAN
AND I WATCH HER GROW SMALLER UNTIL SHE DISAPPEARS ON THE HORIZON.
SOMEONE BESIDES ME SAYS 'THERE SHE GOES'
GOES WHERE? GONE FROM MY SIGHT - THAT IS ALL
FOR SHE IS AS LARGE AS EVER SHE WAS WHEN SHE WAS BESIDE ME
AND AT THE MOMENT SOMEONE SAYS 'THERE SHE GOES' THERE ARE OTHERS WHO WATCH FOR HER COMING AND SAY
'HERE SHE COMES, ALL IS WELL'
AND THAT IS DYING
AND I WATCH HER GROW SMALLER UNTIL SHE DISAPPEARS ON THE HORIZON.
SOMEONE BESIDES ME SAYS 'THERE SHE GOES'
GOES WHERE? GONE FROM MY SIGHT - THAT IS ALL
FOR SHE IS AS LARGE AS EVER SHE WAS WHEN SHE WAS BESIDE ME
AND AT THE MOMENT SOMEONE SAYS 'THERE SHE GOES' THERE ARE OTHERS WHO WATCH FOR HER COMING AND SAY
'HERE SHE COMES, ALL IS WELL'
AND THAT IS DYING
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