Jul 28, 2013

From Commoner to Royalty and Back !

For someone who hates any sort of attention, I did get a lot of it the minute I was born. I was rather tall for a newborn and every doctor and nurse in the All India Institute of Medical sciences hopped over to my Mom’s room to have a look at the tallest baby anyone had ever popped out! Mom was obviously exasperated and as she confessed to my aunt, she felt as if everyone was accusing her of smuggling in a month old baby instead of a new born. 

Before I was born, my brother had ruled over the Shukla family in solitary splendor for 8 years. Then, thanks to me he was unceremoniously dethroned. Till then, he was comfortably encosed in his world of toy warships and cars, with the entire family revolving around him. Enter younger sister into this idyllic existence and he suddenly didn’t know how to fit me into the scheme of things.

Luckily for him, because my Mom had to go back to work and my Grandmother couldn’t bear to see me being looked after by a nanny, I was taken away to my Grandparents home.

Thus began the golden period of my life!

When my brother was born, my parents were in Calcutta so no one got the chance to mollycoddle him. This time, I was right there and never the ones to miss a good opportunity, they wasted no time in spoiling me!

My life you see was made.

Oh I was such a pampered child! My every whim and fancy was their command. My grandma planned her whole day around me and my aunts never came home from work without bringing something for me. Other assorted family members plied me with sweets and toys.

My aunts loved to dress me up and take me out. Even one sneeze, one little cough from me used to send them scattering about like headless chickens flapping their arms and worrying. And on hot summer nights, when power cuts and mosquitos abounded, they spent the whole night carrying me in their arms and patting me to sleep.

But the most amazing thing was the change in my grandfather. He was then the Principal of a school, a strict disciplinarian, and everyone from the family to his teachers and students was petrified of him. Although he loved his children, he never displayed any emotions towards them. All this changed with me. I looked at him once out of my big liquid eyes and he melted.

The family had to face his wrath if I as much as whimpered and there was no one to pick me up. According to my grandmother, he never ever picked up any of his children but I was mostly to be found in his lap. I was allowed in his room and he didn’t mind when I waddled all over the place overturning his books and papers and playing with his spectacles. This man who hardly spoke would tell me stories any time I asked for them. And he was the one who gave me the greatest gift of my life - By teaching me how to write.

But then all good things must come to an end. I reached the school going age and my parents decided to call me back. So very reluctantly, amongst much drama and tears, I left the tender loving care of my Grandparents and went back to Delhi.
My parents were the loving kind, but were not the ones to fuss over their kids unnecessarily. No special treatment was doled out to me.

And so ended my days as the Royal Baby! I was back to being a commoner!

Here an old grainy pic of me with my grandfather. 


Written for the Indiblogeshwaris That Tuesday Thingy

Jul 11, 2013

On Writing a Haiku !

Haiku is a form of Poetry very close to my heart. Recently I wrote a short write-up on Haiku on Write Tribe - An excellent site for Writers and Bloggers. 

[Haiku is a style of Japanese poetry mainly characterized by its very short format. Like almost all Japanese forms of art, Haiku is inspired by nature. Through Haiku, poets attempt to create an image for an element of nature or an emotion.
The beauty of a Haiku lies in its subtle imagery. Personal experiences or natural beauty is never explicitly described but fleeting natural images or emotions are used to subtly capture a larger scene. A haiku leaves a lot to the reader’s imagination or interpretation.......]

To read the complete Post click on http://writetribe.com/haiku/

We also have a very interesting writing Prompt on Haiku.So hop on over and give it a shot !

Jul 6, 2013

The Sounds of Nostalgia

I am in Chandigarh visiting a friend. We sit in her garden sipping Nimbu Paani and lament about the heat and the delayed monsoons. As if taking pity on us sweltering in the heat, a cool breeze starts. And as it picks up, the little bells on the wind chimes hanging from a low branch on her mango tree clink musically.

And just like that, I am back in Kyoto.



I walk in silence up a narrow path twisting its way up to the Shinto Shrine. It is shaded by trees on both sides, flamboyant in their autumn colors of rust and orange. The air has the chill of the coming winter in it. The path is strewn with dry leaves that crunch under my feet as I walk. In the distance the bells of the shrine ring softly, continuously. And in that sweet sound there is something of the autumn’s sadness and melancholy. 

                                           -----

I walk briskly down a street in Delhi. I am late for a client meeting and my mind is on the presentation I have to make. As I pass a restaurant, its door opens and some jazz music floats out. Suddenly I am not standing in Delhi’s commercial district, sweating in my best formals, my laptop bag biting into my shoulder.

I am in Montreal, on a balmy summer night.

I have just two days in the city and determined to make the most of it; I decide to go for a late night walk. Even at that hour the city is vibrant, pulsating and alive. The street ahead is blocked off and there is some sort of stage at one end. Intrigued I walk towards it and realize that I have stumbled upon one of Montreal’s impromptu Jazz events so common in the summer.

 Although I am alone, I decide to stay and listen awhile. The concert begins and soon I am swaying to the music and tapping my foot to the beat. I clap wildly when the performance ends, and when the next number starts, even livelier than the last one, the person next to me impulsively takes my hand and dances a few steps with me. Strangers, we bond together for those few moments over our love for Music and Life. 

                                           -----


Every place has its own music, its own beat. Along with the people that I meet, the food that I eat and the sites that I visit, it is these sounds, this music that I carry in my heart. And when I am least expecting it, I hear something that transports me back into time and brings on a kaleidoscope of poignant bittersweet memories of places visited and times well spent !


This post is written for the That Tuesday Thingy Contest on Indiblogeshwaris


Jun 20, 2013

The Release

“I can’t take it anymore.” I want to put an end to it all”.

Even through the phone she could hear the pain and desperation in his voice.

“But you can’t, it’s against nature”

“I don’t care, It’s too much to bear”.

He slammed down the phone and sat looking at the pills for a long moment. Finally he picked them up and swallowed them quickly.

Then he leaned back, closed his eyes and waited for the release.

After a while he opened his eyes and smiled. The painkillers sure made his migraine go away in a jiffy.

Naturopathy be damned!


This Drabble was written in response to this week's  Write Tribe Prompt.
A Drabble, for the uninitiated is a short story of exactly 100 words. 



Jun 18, 2013

Sepia Tones

I found this scribbled in a journal I used to write on and off while I was in Tokyo a few years back. I used to live in a concrete jungle then and I suppose I didn't like it much!

This seems like a good time to reproduce the entry here !

16th July, 2007,

The rains in Japan are not the same as the rains in India. Somehow they seem more impersonal here. There is no rejoicing, no sense of relief that the parched, scorching summer months are gone. People go about their business as usual, hidden under huge black umbrellas, shapeless in their raincoats. 

No one puts out a hand to catch the raindrops; No one stands with their face turned towards the sky, letting the rain caress their face.

There are no kids splashing in the puddles,or trying to float little paper boats. I suppose the Japanese kids are better behaved than ours.

The rain doesn't make the same sound in this country. In India it has a soft comforting sound, enveloping you like a soft blanket. Even when it is falling on tin roofs there is a certain melody to it.

Here the rain has a bit of the typhoon in it, it slams against the buildings, bangs against my glass windows like whip lash and falls incessantly on asphalt and tarmac.

And right now I would give anything for the smell of wet earth!
 

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