The hot oil poured on my head
spreading its warmth deep inside.
It nestled on hairy bed,
knocked on the bones to reside.
My veins seemed ever eager
as the strains of the day numbed.
The nerves found a new vigour,
and to pleasures they succumbed.
The massage sends a message-
what the old folks had presaged.
Odd old mufflers for the yet unknown chill.
Coffee steamed with the chimneys of the mill.
People exchanged glances to feel alright.
To some - seemed the same as the warm wine filled.
The wool of the sheep lying in her lap,
my mother would make me a warm sweater.
The long thin needles would then go snap-snap
with a smile blessing the coming weather.
Her hands would knit, the emotions would churn,
a steaming cup of coffee idled by.
The spool of memories unrolled and spun,
threads of the past to let the present fly.
Sometimes I watched as she silently stitched.
The design of her thoughts would calmly fit.
Where all my patience would constantly itch,
her piece of art would glow but bit by bit.
At times I wish all seasons to be cold-
just to wear my yellow sweater of old.
My little twinkle is now
of the shining silver age.
But I still remember how
she monkeyed in cradle-cage.
A ride of wondrous sighs,
and joyous tumbles and rolls.
Fooled not be by her looks shy
for they veil a solid soul.
All these years cannot disguise-
mischief dancing in her eyes.
How I want those old days back.
The wild noons and crazy nights.
Not much sought nor much I lacked
but the golden sunrise sight.
The drums rolled soon after brunch.
The guitar found its own tune.
Piano keys loudly punched.
A song from pieces was sewn.
No time’s hand could make us pause-
nor did we play for applause.
Confined to a tiny room day and night.
How my thoughts struggle to show their true might.
People would be going about their ways.
My imagination, my only sight.
I cut my thumb. Blood ran profusely for a couple of months- finding pleasure in finding a new outlet each time. It looked ugly, damn ugly! No amount of bandages, tapes, ointments, powders worked. My initial goal was to make it alright soonest. But as days went by, I gave up hope and concentrated on beautifying it. Forget the pain - I thought - Then I applied turmeric, my father's all time favourite home-medicine. All I ended up doing was making everything around me yellow. Yellow which would not disappear in one wash, two wash, three wash...people around me who were, up till now sympathetic towards me, or rather my my thumb, started giving me weird looks to begin with. and then settled on getting angry outright. - Dear father, please come down from heaven. We have scores to settle. And please take this thumb away on your way up. treat it as gurudakshina-
Finally. my brother-in-law advised me to keep it open and bear the brunt of onlookers. It was so simple but turned out to be genius of an idea. For a few days even I couldn't look at my thumb but then I got used to it. Made people get used to it and bingo! thumb took its original shape and look. The soft, glowing new skin was back on it. Or rather the same skin but it took so much time to heal that I had forgotten what it looked like till I looked at his brother, the right thumb. The thumb seemed to tell me - better take extra care next time around -
It looked beautiful. I twisted it up, down, sideways and it was perfect. Sometimes walking on the street I looked at it so admiringly that people thought I had gone mad. Anyways, everyone accepted it but my cell phone - which had a locking system and would open only after reading my thumb. The phone seemed to say - that's not the skin by which I will let you in. No ways. sorry! -
Wow! the whole world seemed to accept it but this bloody man-made machine. The skin of my thumb looked perfectly normal. I sat back, took deep breaths, and thought, and thought, and thought. The answer came back with a thumping clarity. While all the while I thought that the cell phone wasn't accepting it, it was my thumb that refused to acknowledge it - the software, the system, or whatever crap. Nature seemed to say - just hold on mate. I am still working it. I will give your thumb a perfect dressing, Just chill for few days -
Well - I had been fuming, getting irritated, coming to terms, and finally chilling all these days, it wasn't much to ask for. So I waited, and waited, Waited for nature to works its magic. I didn't try to break into the phone by some devious strategy. I trusted nature completely, always did, and more so now. And true to my faith, and the power of nature, one fine day I held my phone, pressed my, now new thumb, and said - knock! knock! open sesame! And the cell phone opened.
Life is a cube of intriguing puzzles
splashed with vibrant colours and weird patterns.
Sometimes its winding lanes tend to hustle
for unaware of what lies at each turn.
Either you find it as roads of stumbles
or little picturesque pieces of maze.
Sometimes it is a jumble of pebbles
or a riddle that will tease and amaze.
As the paths assemble and colours merge,
life will sparkle with a new dimension.
New layers of designs will soon emerge,
and solve your ever mysterious questions.
Let the cube of life juggle in your hand-
time will side with only those who take a stand.
