When I see the clock ticking,
wonder I,
its running for whom?
for the one who has seen the dawn
or
for the one who is waiting for it

Summer is approaching, so is the itching for mangoes and cold water from pitcher. Worldly act of creating wise-golden words are keeping me busy. Window in my office has finally given up on me. Its always closed and the fast, creaking cars can no more disturb me. The view has also been destroyed & green slush is replaced by jungle of cement. Big machinery not just making sky-scrapers, but rising human expectation to touch sky. Reach for unreachable!!! 

When someone tells me: "You are a strong person"
I reply: Yes, I take iron tablets everyday...

P.S. You don't have to be nerdy to be a happy person. Your poor jokes can help you become one.

Motherhood; A Life long job!!

A drop of tear trickled down her cheeks as she kept the receiver of the phone down. Mayur, 4-year old boy quickly saw his mom's availability and grabbed her sari and started struggling to get into Sarita's lap. Sarita smiled at Mayur and holding him away from her asked him to play in the courtyard of the house. Seeing Sarita's condition, 10-year old Nupur came by the side of her mother. Shyly asked Sarita "Nanu ka phone tha? (Was it grandfather's phone?) What did he say? How is Nani (grandmother)? Sarita gave an artificial smile and hugged her. Trying to hide the truth, she told Nupur that Nani is fine and soon she will come back home. She decided to finish few things before Kishor comes home in evening. She told Nupur to finish homework and keep an eye on Mayur, who was, by then care-freely playing in courtyard. 

As she opened the wardrobe to take out few pair of kurta-salwar and saris to pack in suitcase, she looked at her wedding reception sari, hanging in the metallic hanger, peeping out of the less visited corner, on which Sarita's mom had done embroidery all by herself. She gazed at the fine embroidery of the Sari for few minutes. Each thread had a memory attached to it, as if Love was woven in memories. Rose, bougainvillea, marigold and amaltas flowers were embroidered on the border. During spring, winters, summers, these flowers used to bloom in their garden. She gently touched one end of the sari which had a special pattern to it. It was peacock feather pattern. Memories came rushing and storm in Sarita's eyes. She kissed, smelled and hugged her sari as if she just wanted to re-live all the memories at once. She remembered how she used to pluck China rose everyday and watered them to ensure continuous supply during the blooming season. During summer morning walks with her mother, she used to pluck amaltas twigs and keep them in water hoping to get fragrance all day long. How every morning she used to get up early to collect peacock feathers, during the period when peacock shed their feathers. How she used to pester her mom to allure Peacocks with grains and breads, so that they shed feathers in their garden. Sarita and her mother had once sowed onions, potatoes, carrots, radish, eggplant(brinjal), spinach in their kitchen garden. Short were those days and evergreen as always, when Sarita's world revolved around her mother. For Sarita, mother had been a teacher, sister, friend, gardner, competitor, chef, priest, tailor, mechanic, and most importantly a MOTHER;  

A deep crease suddenly came on her forehead as she heard the phone-bell. Quickly picking up the receiver, she listened to the news patiently. As she ended the conversation with monosyllables, she kept the receiver down. A part of her childhood had gone, her part of the role, of being a daughter had finished. Mother had left Sarita, with only one choice; of being a mother. Feeling a sudden craving for her mother, she felt a lump in her throat. With a chocked heart, she called Mayur and Nupur. With tear filled eyes she looked at her innocent kids; smiled Sarita with shivering lips; hugged them with the hope to give the best of memories to her kids as her mother did.