The Flute Player

The sun was going down, sliding away in the river like eyes in the sea of tears. While walking I found my heart heavy with the grief. I settled down on a rock and saw the birds returning to their nests and sky going dark. There was the feeling of tranquility as the waves touched my feet. To this moment filled with many feelings was added the soft tunes of a flute. It was coming from somewhere far away. Every note coming from the flute was in the recognition of the retracing steps of the sun and my heart. There was no sign of the one playing the flute. The melodious notes seemed to me coming from the middle of the river. I decided to take a boat and experience the river that seemed to be the origin of the music.

                         I started to row in the river and felt the waves carrying me to my destination. There, on the other side of the shore, under the shade of a huge tree, I saw a young boy with a thin long flute lost in the creation of his own. The deep crimson color of the sky was reflecting on him and to me he appeared as a painter painting the whole sky, earth and river with his flute. I took out the camera and clicked many photos. Soon I was close enough to make my presence felt to him. He opened his eyes and looked bright and vibrant as a saint coming out of his meditation.

                         I said breaking into the cosmos of music as it got difficult for me to sustain my excitement and curiosity to know this young flute player. i asked “you were playing beautifully. What is your name?”in a voice that was high enough to jerk him from his position and the parrots on the tree which took off, displeased by my presence but i stood on the point and continued to look at him. Breaking into a warm smile he replied “thank you. My name is bhola.”

                       “Ok, I have taken a lot of your pictures. I will send you after developing them, if you want. Give me your address.”

                      his cheeks went red. he shifted his feet unesily and carefully said “I will give you. But first listen to the flute more. Come out of the boat and sit here” he said offering me his hand. I took it and sat next to him. He started playing his flute and without knowing I drowned myself in the timelessness.

In the still darknesss

In the still darkness of the night

I saw the pair of eyes enchanted

Like a deep ocean engulfing everything around

i tried to look away

From that oceanic glare

That rooted me there

And instead of walking away from it

I walked towards it

Intoxicated by the magical eyes

He was someone else that time

Someone who craves to drown himself

In passion, in love.

The unseen veil between us

That stood before us forever

Melted in the heat of our breaths

The wild passion glowed in his eyes

Which surely was reflecting in mine

in the pages of a book

like a rose pressed in the page of book

time spent with you is preserved in my mind

those stolen moments, away from all the eyeballs

breathes in my heart and has scented my life.

in the daily hustle bustle of life

i steel away few moments

and go through the leaves of my mind

reliving the cherished moments time and again

In the Turmoil

My first love was young.

I had dreams and songs,

Those were free of woe.

I thought of the world to be free,

Of everything that hurts,

I hoped to see true love,

I hoped to find the solace,

In the turmoil of daily life.

I tried to find life in my young love.

But everything came falling.

Everything turned into turmoil,

As everything around.

And I figured out,

That there is no true love,

That there is no true solace

 And that my young love is a fallacy.

The only truth is the turmoil around,

In which I live, and in which I will die.

the Growing Jungle

When you write, it is must that your hair are tied much above your head. You are in comfortable clothes and there is no irritating noise around. These are the points that make me a writer but right now none of these is happening to me. My hair are disheveled, clothes are the loosest, like they belong to some fat overgrown woman and continuously there is a drilling machine working in the neighbor. Adding to my misery there has come on my face a pimple that is not only ugly but also painful. But these things can not deter the spilling of my thoughts, as always.

                    Today, I am going to write not about the fly that is dancing before my eyes and trying her hard to get my attention but about my pitfalls that happened today. I woke up in the morning, fresh and lively and decided to do some breathing exercise to put an end to the chronic headaches. Before the real start I went out in my garden that is slowly and slowly taking a shape of a mini jungle, to fuel my eyes with fresh green and other colors of flowers and birds. Everyone in the garden, seemed to be very busy to pay attention to my presence which let me have the most picturesque view. In a way I felt welcomed and accepted. I was glowing in the warmth of nature. But to my surprise came a pair of bulbul. Like warriors they gushed around me. I was gasping with surprise and wonder. I could not gather my wits. I felt a cold shiver down my spine and wondered what on earth I did to deserve such a display of anger. “I think I have trespassed into their territory” I muttered to myself. To save my skin I ran inside to find my dad ready to water the plants with a bucket in his hands.

                   “golu, come, lets water the plants. Your mum will kill us if she sees her plants left uncared when she was away.” Considering it my duty I said “but dad bulbuls are angry, they won’t allow us to come in the garden”

       “Bulbuls are angry birds. But it’s ok. We won’t go near their nest.” He said, consolingly to me. So we went and this time there was no bulbul. We were happily watering the plants and for a moment I thought myself to be the owner of this beautiful garden. I was wrong, because I was tripped and fell on a flower pot and broke it and saw my hands and face covered in mud. With fearful heart I looked at my father who looked at me with fiery eyes. I blinked once and twice and looked at my father who swallowed his anger and said “let’s replace the pot.”

            With everything done, we continued with the watering. But like always lights went off with that water motor went off. And we stood there looking at each other, helplessly. The mishaps don’t end here. The lights came an hour later and we went out again, hoping to complete the work this time. And we did complete this time. Happy at our hearts we were enjoying the birds taking in the drops of water from the leaves. Our enjoyment was called off when the door of the house banged (it’s a kind of door, having a function that once it is closed it can only be opened by a key, which was obviously inside) and we were shut out of the house again. “To hell with this garden” said my father a little louder which spread the odd silence in our growing jungle.

                        

Pests

The most common trait in all of us, the Indians, is to criticize others. And in the tag of “others” comes those people who work for our own welfare. I never watch Indian news channels because they are the typical example of our poor mentality. They focuses more on how ramdev ji was jumping on the stage and how many followers he has and the other irrelevant stuff, leaving behind their duties as news reporters. Coming to half of the general mass, pot bellied with puffed nose, sitting in air conditioned rooms blaming ramdevji over his mannerisms and the amount of money that he has. A simple question to those who are born with a silver spoon in the mouth that with all that money and weird mannerisms ramdevji is still on the stage with hazare ji fasting for the general cause. What about you? If you have all the manners and legal money then why don’t you go and do something, if not the fasting, for the country? The answer is you people have never thought about your own kith and kin, so how can you feel anything for the poor who are victimized by the government.

                It’s a shame on us that we are only the couch potatoes. There is no feeling of duty towards the country which like a rot fish has become the food for pests like us.

Home

Beneath the golden apple tree, strumming the guitar, wearing the shorts and loose shirt which slips off my left shoulder.  Well, that’s how I imagine myself to be. But the  truth is stranger than fiction, isn’t it. So let’s get the real picture of mine. Sitting under the bougainvillea creeper (as there is no electricity, as usual) with my guitar (which is giving me hard time) wearing shorts and shirt (which doesn’t slips off my left shoulder or from anywhere). The climate is typically hot and humid. But I am determined to do what I want.

           After 20 minutes I had to leave the place because the rightful owners of the place had returned- the two kittens. I let them have their fun and left, without letting down my spirits inside. I gave a last look to the sky and saw the sun that was tumbling down, sliding off speedily from his vantage point. The sky turned to blaring white to yellow to orange to red then crimson and then poof. Gone, it was sudden but I was happy to bid adieu to the mighty sun who will return no matter how much I hate its return.

             The electricity is still absent. But in the dark I saw a flickering candle light and went towards it. My mom was there sitting and reading a paper under the candle light. As her eyes came to me, and her lips creased into a smile, I understood why in the midst of this harsh summer, thorny people and surroundings I feel like never leaving this place. Whatever may be the problems around, she is the one who makes home or more profoundly, I would like to say, she is my home.

in the Summers

The ice cube in my lemonade tinkles as I rattle my head for the things I want to write. My apologies to my dear readers for all the ado, as I was off the tracks recently. The reasons are many but the most pressing one is the heat of the summers accompanied with the dryness and electricity cut off for six hours and also the low voltage when the kind electricity comes to light our homes. I don’t blame anyone and I don’t blame pratibha patil at all for the sad condition of mine and others because how can she, holidaying in Africa with her small family of ten to fifty heads on the money, consisting of our taxes be called the culprit.

                       It is only me and I should do something about it instead of watching the ice cube liquidate in my glass, even if it is the prettiest sight in the piece of desert I am living in. I should gulp down my lemonade and sit down writing something nice for you people avoiding the continuous buzz of flies and stings of mosquitoes. But before this I should make another glass of lemonade and get a fresh paper as the one right beneath my face is soaking in my sweat. I ask my readers to not to expect something stupendous coming from me because my wits are baking in the sun and my intellect has become a feast for flies.

Basket of Dreams

when I started my blog. I was in a great hurry to find a place where
my heart and mind can rest. I failed to find the comfort that I wanted
from anyone around me, so I produced this blog. I named it "basket of
dreams" because I believe that we all dream in our heart of hearts.
That there are many things we want to say but we hesitate as there is
no one who has patience to turn a kind ear towards us or worst we fearof being misjudged. Similar was the case with me and one more thing I
love to dream and imagine. Most importantly I love to write. With all
these things in my mind I named it so and build it brick by brick.
"Basket of dreams" is the place breathing in dreams, passions,
fantasies and imagination of not only me but of all those people who
dares to listen to their soul.
                         By my good luck, I am able to connect to
strangers and loved ones. I know you people like my writings and i am
grateful to all of you. It will be nicer if you drop some comments and
tell me your opinions. "Basket of dreams" is not a place where we have
to think and write. It’s a place where your heart gets the freedom to
fly in a never ending blue sky.

My Jija

Sun hides behind the morning mist. The fragrance of last night’s rainfall is spread all over. The sparrows are busy finding their food. Other tiny birds are fluffing and cleaning themselves from their little beaks. As I see through a huge window in my farm. I find big fat cows mooing lazily. The milkman has arrived clad in the whitest kurta and dhoti with bright red colored pagdi (a kind of turban). Smoke is rising through a small wooden and straw hut, mingling in the air a puff of burning cow dung, tea leaves and milk.

         My attention shifts as I see parrots making noise on the guava tree and then I see a woman in the rainbow colored long skirt and kurta, adorning a long transparent cloth over her head, tucked in her skirt, coming towards me all the way smiling with a large tea pot and several glasses adding to the beauty of the scene. This is jija, we all call her by this name. She has been the caretaker of our house from the time immemorial. The numerous wrinkles on her face make her more graceful and majestic. She reminds me of my grandmother as she was her close friend. The jingling of her numerous bangles, her booming voice and her caring attitude makes me very nostalgic when I am away from her. She completes the picture of the home that I once had and for whom my heart longs.

         I don’t remember when was the last time I visited my grandparent’s beautiful farmhouse and had the fun of those special mornings but it feels like it was just yesterday that I was cradling in that huge window observing nature’s activities while sipping the tea made by my jija.

            

Godmother of the brokenhearted

A girl came up to me crying like a baby, on asking why, she blurted “I broke up with my boyfriend.” “Oh” I said. “It’s tragic” I continued. “When did this all happened?” an obvious question asked by me. “Last year, on this very day” she said between her sobs. I gasped. Well it’s natural to gasp in such matter when you see a girl crying over some jackass who left her. At that very instant I decided to be her godmother. Well, it’s a big word for me but I felt a lot for that pitiable small figure. So, I decided “where does that idiot live”. She looked at me as if I am her savior, trying to save the rocking boat of her love. Partly, she was right. I am going to save not her love but her. She told in broken voice “he lives round the corner. And I am miserable every time I see him. But he doesn’t seem to care. He laughs and roams as I don’t exist.” All this she said in top of her voice without stopping even to take breath. She was visually shaking. I held her tight and told her that everything is going to be fine but we all know that it isn’t going to be fine.

               Next day I went “round the corner” and had no trouble of knocking at the door because he was squatting in the verandah. By looking at him, I have to say that I was not at all wrong in calling him a jackass. Let’s proceed to the point, I called him politely. “Hey, I want to ask you something, do you know this address?” I had a slip in my hand as he came closer greedily I slapped him tightly across his face which was soon followed by a punch on his nose. He fell like a heap of dung on the floor and after hearing his girlish shouts, came his mother who was Xerox of him. This didn’t deter me to spat on his face. His mother looked at me shocked and trying to make his fallen son stand she squealed to me “what do you think you are doing? Who are you?” she seemed very polite that made me think she must be aware of her son’s doings. “Well, aunty I am elder sister of shreya and he hit her. Actually abused her.” my tears were enough proof for aunty. “She is lying ma” shouted her son but anger had brewed up in her eyes and she renewed the beating of her son.

                   When I ended telling all that had happened to Shreya. She said “but he never abused me or hit me. This is wrong. I thought you wanted us to be together.”

         “You are never going to be together and deep down you know this and this should not happen because that guy is a sack full of shit and I did you a favor, I showed him his right place, below my heels. I saved you and your rocking boat of love.”

            Her confused face told me she didn’t understand so I elaborated “from now, you will fall in love with someone that is in need of your love and that person is yourself.” Her pretty face broke into smile and I realized that I have been successful being a godmother of my little friend who seem no more brokenhearted.

   

My Six Strings

This is the gift that makes me feel on the top of this world. It was a very sunny day and about to become bestest day ever. Well, we all know what worst kind of times I went through but one look of this guitar erased all the bad things engraved deep in my heart. I want to thank all my chubby little naughty friends who think of gifting me something that I longed from time immemorial. Now coming back to the point where I first met my handsome six strings, leme tell you one thing that it was love at first sight. The moment I held it, I knew that it’s gonna be forever. It was really hard to wait for everyone to disperse because, come on, its quite natural, to want to be alone with your lover and that’s what I was desiring secretly.

                My impatience cascaded and it became transparent by my uneven breathing as we were approaching my friend’s home. I wanted to be alone soon. The moment we entered, ignoring the surprised eyes on me, I rushed upstairs. Catching my breath, I ripped apart its cover and found my love, all black and fragrant. I ran my fingers on my own guitar and I can swear on anyone I have not seen anything so majestic and smooth before. Now all I know that we are together, working to know more about each other and falling in love day after day

A bird and a parent

What it is to be a bird and a parent??? Well answer to this can be best given by the group of birds that live behind my house on an empty plot. They build their nests on the ground and take almost everyone even an ant to be the abductors of their little ones. I am writing this because like everyone I am bordering on becoming complete deaf by their screeching noise. Right now they are screeching because two extremely harmless cows have come to sit there and chew their undigested food. But for these birds they are two intruders and born killers so they are trying their best to scare them but from a safe distance. Thanks to the great wings and lean body, they are able to just come near the long ears of those innocent cows and screech but unaware of the stubbornness and laziness of cows. They go on tearing their throats and tearing our ear drums. Everything seems to fall apart by their torturous screech. The only thing we can do is to wait for those cows to move from there as there is nothing that can make those furious bird parents stop. It really seems a very difficult job, not of those possessive parents flying and shrieking but of us who bears the brunt of the doings of others. this proves that the award for best parents goes to....i think we all know to whom.

Spoiled Brats

I am amazed to see people taking pleasure by torturing others. I really wonder of what kind of fiber they are made. They love to tease old people who are wearied and weakened by time and age. They are so called aristocratic dictators who rather than faking to be the followers of great should be licking the asses of people like hitler and stalin. Surely they are the true bearers and descendents of them. The most questionable is the behavior of their parents who forgets about their duties and let their spoiled brats become pests. They forget that they will be facing the same situation in near future and that soon they will be old and wrinkled and even if they are by chance saved by the horrid fate of other oldies. They have to face the wrath of nature. As it is a well proven fact that whatever you do in this world it reverts and come back to you.

                      But as we all know nothing seems to have any effect on these hard skulls because in flesh they are humans but from inside they are worst than the devil. And they feel proud about it. Well I really wish that there do exist a hell and after death they get a chance to live in their real home, where they really belong.

Comparisons

Benchmarks were set.

The moment my first step was set.

Comparisons were made.

As If I am a commodity of trade.

Every other person,

Seemed better than my person.

I rushed to change myself

Instead I stumbled over.

Fell from the “hope tower.”

Now I see how right they were.

That all I am is girl of blunders.

Wrong doings and devastations

Destiny...

What is destiny?

We ask often,

To ourselves and to eachother.

But what is it?

Does anyone knows?

We leave the road taken.

we part ways once chosen.

we hush the heartbeats.

we rush to forgetfulness.

just because we think.

just because we assume.

that it never meant to be.

but do we understand?

The word love or destiny?

So here is the truth,

That remains unrevealed.

Destiny is the bridge,

And love is the cement.

To reach out to the one,

Who turned upside down.

Entire world only to love you.

Only to be with you.

As the world sings.

as the world sings,

and people celebrates.

i remember you,

hugging me tight to yourself.

making me feel so loved.

making me feel so special.

every dream of mine precipitated,

in one look of the twin world of his eyes.

but the stars above me,

were not happy,

to see me happy.

so they decided to end.

all that i ever loved.

the unimagined happened.

he became a perfect stranger.

and i became a perfect loner.

the kiss

In the busy crowd.

Surrounded by the voices.

I had my dream walking.

Hand in hand,

The reality was fantasy.

And fantasy was reality.

But few moments were -

More magical than the magic,

More beautiful than the most beautiful.

It was when his arm curled around me.

And his lips kissed mine.

The quiet and love wrapped us,

That is the moment alone.

Among the many,

 embedded deep in my heart

The Bee Effect

                                                 




Just like a bee that flies and sits in the womb of a flower to extract honey, my mind too settles in the womb of my memories and extracts happiness that transmutes into a smile. With it there is a whisper of a word “beautiful”. This word “beautiful” comes to my mind because in the tragedy of my life I have come forth as a new person who is proud of herself for taking the courage to deal with her life alone. I remember myself to be a girl who used to be scared with almost everything.  Then suddenly finding my life’s support in others and now abandoned with everyone I found the real “me”. and this meeting with “me” has been really satisfying. And with the experiences gained I have come to know that I am the most beautiful human being who is a good friend, great lover and an amazing daughter. And all of this is achieved by me with no outside support. So looking back at the wars that I waged with the world I feel like winner. I have nothing but this nothingness has given me chance to know me. There will be downfalls and tears as they are the part of life but the most empowering thing is that I am going to be the Captain of the ship of my life. The storms will come and it will try to wreck the ship of my life but I will save it. I will put the anchor of undying faith in the seas of sorrows and steer my ship to safety.  

The Change

Yesterday sachin made his hundredth hundred and I did a message that no other shweta in this planet had ever done. A girl who always goes against the tide and who lives in extremes, surrendered finally before the powerful force called “the change”. She accepted her defeat and let the God triumph over her downfall. The heavens are celebrating and toasting after breaking the backbone of her hopes. Oh, I am drifting apart from the main thing- “that message”. Let us say that “that message” was a final adieu to her past life. A life which was the source of her living. A life which was in real unreal. She finally understood that she was trying to hold in her fist something which was long gone and is adding miseries to the one she love the most.

                            

                     But after what happened yesterday, is she going to stop dreaming? Is she going to stop hoping? No, never, even if it is going to cost her entire existence. She is going hope that one day the clouds of sadness will go away and the sun of happiness will shine over her. She is going to hope that the birds of dreams will chirp again on the branches of her imaginations and that her wishful acceptance of life will glide away the shadow of gloom that now looms large on her face.