Queries of Anonymity

To whom shall I bare

my little piece of earth?

Dedicate my humble prayer

to whose blessed birth?

Shall I proceed to drown

In salty oceans grim?

Or should again set sail

Through the winds of purple whim?

Should I lose once more

To the wars fought within?

Or tell my raging core

To make a virtue of every sin?

Shall I stand on this cliff

To wake up the drowsy land?

Shall you never know my if

And the tremors of my hand?

What keeps me from you,

These dreams and the rest?

Then will they burn my wings

And push me from my nest?

 Am I the letter you never sent?

Am I the unopened book?

Am I the forgotten home,

You never turned back to look?

Are these my veins

With breathless blood

Those in haste run to my heart?

Beseech you to let me

Love yet again

Before we to oblivion depart…

My experiments with Timepass

           This happens to be my first rangoli ever. Took almost an hour but parivar jan were happy.. :D

 I am still not sure why I made this one. But Pa loves it and so much that it has been his desktop background since the last Diwali.

                                                         

  This was forced upon me. :D

                                       

For Sister's birthday. She cannot stand gallery cards..

                                                    And I wanted to see the next day's sun..

 This diwali, my brains had gone on a vacation.

                                             So I had no idea what to do.. :)

   The peacock is something that is by far the best I have been able to achieve. I like it, for a change.

   

 The forced one.. ;)

For a temporary pout.. ;D

Pizza in kitchen.                              
Rohu like pizza. Ants like pizza.  
Rohu bite pizza. Ants bite Rohu.
Rohu look like Donald Duck.      
Rohu no like pizza.                          
Ants say Cheeeese. :/                        
(This was absolute horror for me. if only i had bothered to switch on the lights! :@ I would have liked to write Angelina Jolie instead of D Duck but then i dont want her to commit hara- kiri if she finds out by the remotest chance. Good for getting a temporary pout. ;). Actions were performed by an expert #at disasters# Readers are requested not to try this at home.) 

The Murderous Bridge

While travelling to Meerut from Delhi, one may have to travel via Baghpath. Not the liveliest of stretches to pass through. Halfway through the town, the atmosphere transforms itself into a colder and quieter shade. It is here that the Khooni Pull stands.
                                    
The name itself is often enough to make one think that they require a pacemaker to normalize their cardiac rythm. Felt the same, when an acquaintance who was travelling with us and our driver narrated to us remarkably similar accounts of the cursed bridge. It wasnt called by its name for no reason.
                   
What we were told didnt sound new. About twelve years back, a bus met an accident here and toppled into the river. Nobody survived. These people were a wedding party and were on their way back. The bride, the groom, everyone met a tragic end. Although all bodies were retrieved, they could'nt find the bride. And It is said to be the spirit of this lady that haunts the bridge.
                             
If you travel on that bridge after 10pm on certain doomed days, there's a fair chance that you'd see her on the bridge. Crying franatically, pleading you to stop your vehicle and help. If one is unaware and unsuspecting, its unlikely that you won't pay heed. In most cases only the driver sees her. If he stops the car, its certain that he'll meet his end  within the next few minutes. Nobody had ever survived an accident on khooni pull.
                                   
  The testimony is provided by bent pole (TEDHA KHAMBA) on the bridge itself. It has always played a proud role in all the accidents till date including that of the bus. We saw it on our way. And even though I did not believe the driver when he claimed he saw her, the local newspaper clipng that he brought for us to see the next morning was sufficient to drill holes in our guts. "Two surrender to Khooni Pull's whims." I wonder how that makes the murderous bride content... People who simply drive by are never harmed. In any case, it surely makes you rethink your intention to play saviour on dark streets... or bridges to be precise... Bon voyage... :)

One Day in March

Today she sang to anonymous shores...
beloved waters sang along...
together in the symphony of their solitudes..
their souls back to where they belong.  
             
Today she sketched across the canvas..
the love of longing skies...
they knit the arc with seven wet hues..
to laugh and shine in her eyes.  
                                              
Today she wrote for her blessed book...
wrote a thousand verses divine...
scattered them across the starry skies..
and dissolved them in every wine.
                                 
Today she danced for the spring..
and allowed no bloom to wither.
Today the world beheld her smile.
Today you would have fallen in love with her. :) 

It happened one night...

This one was narrated to me by a friend. The man in the story is lady's nana ji. (names changed ofcourse)   .......................................................................................................................................................
Narayan Tiwari was uneasy to say the least. It was well past eleven. The village was engulfed by slumber and darkness. He cursed himself. Had he not rested at Shankar's house, he would have safely reached home before dark. Shanti must be fuming. He prayed that she would'nt burn him alive as soon he reached home. It would still take him half an hour. He decided to take a short cut through Madan Lal's farm. That way, he would find his gharwali's ire in ten minutes.                                                                      
Harvest was still a fortnight away. The crop had grown well, he thought. He was painfully envious of Lal's eleven acres. He was dreaming about being the owner of such a stretch, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere and to his absolute horror appeared a woman. She was decked from head to toe and appeared very distressed. Narayan was about to die of a cardiac arrest when she spoke. "excuse me bhai ji, but can you help me find my way. I had come to that wedding, but lost my way while coming back."

 "Wedding?" asked Narayan surprised, "which wedding behenji? There was no wedding in Ramchowk tonight. What are you talking about?" She pointed behind him, "There, werent you invited? Cant you see the lights?" Narayan turned to look. It was pitch dark. He turned back. "No behenji, what lights are you...." The  words were swallowed back when he saw the smirk on the lady's face. He realized he could see her clearly. Clearly... In the blinding darkness.  "You still dont get it, do you...... Narayan?" she said laughing into the haunted stillness...    

The Terrace

'Almost everything about Delhi is nice Ma. We enjoyed ourselves a lot. Except that my precious afternoon naps had gone for a toss. Children used to play and run on the terrace all afternoon...... Yes ma,I had thought of going and telling them but then when I decided to go one noon, I saw a man running upstairs. I think he was working as a help for the adjoining flat. I saw him going upar a number of times afterwards as well. And as I was alone at that time, I wasnt really comfy going there. Even Anand told me not to. Chalo but, now we are back and I have become Kumbhakaran again. Hehehehe!!!.... .'  When she hung up, she saw Anand staring at her, very white. The first time she saw him that way.  'What happened?' she asked. He sat down on the bed and smiled weakly. Then he motioned her to come and sit next to him. When she did, he held her by the shoulder and said. 'I did'nt want to tell it to you then, but I think I can now.' She was looking blank. He smiled again. ' Vandana, dont get freaked out now. There were never any children playing on the terrace Baba, and no man went upstairs. The terrace has been locked since the past six years after a labourer's daughter who was playing there died mysteriously. Her father in the trauma became mentally unstable and committed suicide. He is the man you saw running upstairs. Everybody in that building has seen him. That is why everyone stayed indoor in the afternoon. Nobody was harmed ever. But it's like, the building has captured a film of that fateful day and replays it every afternoon.' Vandana was hardly breathing. Her mind was also replaying the memory. The man running upstairs, breathless, crying 'Laado, mahri laado, mahri laado...'