The Quest of the Sparrows

Folks,
A dear friend, Kartik Sharma, just came out with his first ever book. Sounds very interesting. Pick it up if the description on Wiki interests you. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Quest_of_the_Sparrows )It should be in bookstores in a week or so. I'll bet its a good read.

That's all folks

342. Still 6 more pages to go. She tried to hurry up her reading, almost willing the characters to act faster. The stubbornly unhurried pace of the story gave her a sense of her dreams in which she had tried to scream only to find that her vocal chords failed her.
It had no surprise, no frantic energy and yet it left her feeling breathless; as if a graying, graceful and weak man had made love to her.
348. She panicked for the last line, for which she had waited and hurried, suddenly seemed terrifying. It was going to end. And it did, breathtakingly.
She couldn’t turn the last page nor could she bear to read the last line again. She had lost the man and there was no going back. She lingered still; eyes scanning the ink and trying not to recognize the alphabets and words – a widow by the body of her husband, trying desperately to salvage some more togetherness while still refusing to register the dead reality of her companion of so long. Every instant only reinforced that searching the silence, apart from making her feel empty, was disrespectful to the life and the love they had shared.
She put down the book and the thought of reading another, she felt, had the stench of infidelity.

Picture credits: Giuseppe Ceschi

Hold that glance

She looked at him
There was no longing there

     An old classic on pages so yellow
     The creases on the cover and the dusty feel
     Every word still vivacious with the zest for life
     It still has it magic, its razor-sharp wit
     The maidens still pretty , the bells still peal.

     The paper so crisp , it threatens to crumble
     Yet the turf for the army's thunder
     The ink, so faint she strains to read,
     Still weaves nights of cold air laden
     with treachery thick and mysterious wonder

He looked at her
There was no longing there

     The yellow so bright, its almost golden
     A half-open bud, posing as a flower
     The scent so deep, there's substance there
     Compliments the smell of the musty paper
     All at once - potent, sweet and sour.

     So young so fresh, yet so proud
     The pollen within the promise of life
     Breathing in every shade that's hers
     His eyes never the green thorn saw
     For the petals alone cut like a knife

Both Sides Now

I've looked at love from both sides now, from the give and take, but still somehow it's love's illusion i recall. I really don't know love at all.

-Both Sides Now. By Joni Mitchell

Disclaimer: The song has only as much connection with the post as you make. Nevertheless, listen to the song, it's beeyootifool.

The beads of condensed water appeared, grew heavier, and finally rolled down. JD sat and stared, almost absent and content at the same time, at the glass of hazelnut (his favourite) coffee on the table in front of him. Today was a strange day. Nothing in particular happened but on this strange day JD felt strangely happy. It was one of those days when you feel like you could hug everyone you meet, when you pet the stray dog you usually avoid and probably even buy roses at the traffic signal with no recipient in mind.

He even thought that his usually unruly hair looked good today. He turned his head from side to side while looking at his reflection in the glass wall of the cafe he sat in. His gaze then followed the reflection of condensed droplets on the coffee glass. Some movement on the other side of the glass broke his trance. It was a little poor boy peeping into the halogen-lit world inside the expensive cafe. He seemed to be studying JD, for JD looked different from the usual cafe-going bunch. He gave a toothy smile as their eyes met. JD kept looking at him but the boy soon lost interest and turned his attention to the TV perched on the opposite wall. He seemed very excited and happy. His hair was rough and dry, his eyes a pale yellow, his skin leathery and his feet with broken nails stood firm on the pavement that must be hot enough to fry an omelette, observed JD. The world inside was so different. The girls on the opposite table must've spent a bomb on those french manicured nails, the AC kept the place nice and cool even in this hot summer, the TV aired celebrity lives and JD's new shoes boasted of a Michael Jordan sign. The little boy outside looked happy to even get a glimpse of the good life.

Since it was JD's i-am-happy day, he felt a sudden urge to share his happiness with this unfortunate boy. He went outside and offered to take the boy in. The boy's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He had stood here and happily looked inside every day but no one had even spoken to him let alone take him inside. He put his hand into JD's and walked inside, slightly scared and embarrassed but delighted. The AC felt so good and the cushion was so soft! JD ordered sandwiches and ice-cream for him. The boy looked around the cafe as if he had never seen it before and wanted to touch everything; the coffee glass, the table, the cane of the sofa and even the glass wall. He smiled from ear to ear as he lapped up every last crumb of his food.

Half an hour later JD walked home even happier than he was before. He couldn't remember another time when he had made someone so happy. The toothy grin kept flashing in front of his eyes and every time it did so, JD smiled, both inside and outside. He would remember this boy for days.

The boy stood on the hot pavement again, waiting for another JD to take him in. He'd never been so miserable before. The sun hurt his eyes and the pavement his feet. He wished for the feel of the soft cushions. He touched the glass wall, it felt warm and he remembered how cool it had felt from inside. He begged a young girl entering the cafe to take him in and the cafe manager came out and threatened to hit him. He remembered how happy he was this morning and cursed JD for JD had made a beggar of the poor boy.

What if

What if what I call blue is green to thine eyes
And I call your green blue, and so do you
If my sky was the colour of grass to you
And what if this wasn't limited only to hues

If a ripe fruit tasted to you as a sour one to me
But we both called it sweet all the same
What if the mirror showed you what it did to me
And it was 'me' to both. What a weird game!

We'd talk of the same things we loved
The sky at sunset and the lemon tart
The words would be the same as would the names
But what we loved, poles apart

Stars on the Wall

She looked at her walls, let out a sigh
Rectangles of paper, garnished with dust
The blazers from school, kites in the sky
Points for the book she thought, write she must

Scraps of paper, that’s what’s left
Caught and stilled, from yester years
Reminder of what you can’t have any more
Coloured paper and long-dried tears

She stood at her window, t’was a clear night,
Stars emboldened, for the moon was shy
The studded firmament, quite a sight
She smiled and let out another sigh

The twinkling specks had whispered to her
They were flashes from light years away
Caught and stilled a million years ago
And yet, over cheer they held their sway

She wiped the dust off her own stars
Times change, and people depart
There’s no going back to them
But the old pictures warmed her heart

Enter Bhagwaan

It was almost ten 'o clock now. Mummy and Pop (Papa was being called Pop these days) had left for work more than an hour back. The maid had finished her sweeping and cleaning too. Diya lingered over her breakfast today, when on most other days she would gulp it down hurriedly. She sat picking up and nibbling at the remains of the bread in her plate. When even they were over, she resorted to making spirals out of ketchup. Her usual play time was nine thirty but Nani's visit to their house had turned her world slightly topsy turvy. Since morning, which was when Nani arrived, Diya had been finding herself displaced from her usual spots. First Nani had sat on her favourite sofa, then Nani's big brown bag had sat where Diya liked her pretty Barbie kitchen set to be and now Nani had been sitting in the Puja Room for almost an hour.

On another day, by this time Diya would be in the Puja Room with all four of her Barbies. She would've set up the dining table (She dint have a dining table so she used the big book with the red velvet cover that Mummy read to Ramji every morning.) for them and seated them around it. Ramji, from Mummy's Puja also came down to sit and play. Ramji was her favourite doll. Because he had pretty ornaments and also Mummy had often told Diya that Ramji would take care of her. Ramji was her friend and protector while the Barbies were slightly lower in hierarchy in her scheme of things. She herself wanted to join them at the table but she found herself grossly out of proportion with the rest of them so she placed the 'diya' that Mummy lit everyday. Mummy had told her once, 'Beta, your name means this beautiful and sacred little flame that lights up everything around it.' So she used the 'diya' as a placeholder for herself. And then the story took its own different course each day. Sometimes it was a birthday party and sometimes the Barbies fought and Ramji sorted their fights out.

But today Nani was sitting there, taking her own sweet time. Didn't she know that Mummy had already read to Ramji once. She didn't have to do it again. (Anyway's Ramji enjoyed Diya's skits more.) So Diya sat and waited, twiddling her thumbs and planning out the screenplay for today's drama. When Nani was finally done, Diya waited for her to disappear into the bedroom. Then she ran into the Puja Room. She placed the red book on the floor. Today it would be a bed and not a table. She lay Ramji and the Barbies down on it. Then her creativity lost steam. She was trying to weave a tale, debating between a bedtime story competition and a everyone-is-ill story, when suddenly Nani hollered at her from behind. She looked very angry. She held Diya by her ear and made her stand up. Then she placed Ramji back into his usual standing place. Diya had no idea what the problem was. She had played here everyday after Mummy and Pop left. Nani then scolded her saying 'Yeh koi khelne ki jagah nahi hai. Bhagwaan gussa ho jayenge.' Diya tried to mutter something in protest but thought better of it. With tears welling up in her eyes, she collected her Barbies and left. All she remembered was Nani saying 'Bhagwaan gussa ho jayenge', 'Bhagwaan punish karenge'. Nani had pointed at Ramji when she said that but Diya was sure she meant someone else. Ramji only loved and cared for her. He didn't scold or punish her.

At night, after everyone had slept, Diya tiptoed to the Puja Room, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. She quickly picked up Ramji and took him to her room. She placed him next to her on her pillow and covered him with her sheet and said 'I'm sorry Ramji I couldn't rescue you earlier. We will fight whoever this Bhagwaan is and his silly rules. You won't have to stay in the Puja Room anymore if we cant play there. I'll talk to Mummy. I love you and I want you to be near me so that you can love and protect me.' She kissed Ramji's forehead and said goodnight to her favourite doll with shiny ornaments and eyes that never closed.