The Interpreter of Paradoxes

The sign read “Do Not Disturb” at all times.
And, it was evident in the behavior, too –
The grumpy face, dark-circled eyes, and undisclosed life.
They thought she was busy with countless things to do.

All of them but one.
Her behavior too left them all flummoxed.
She understood the “Do Not Disturb” sign at once,
For she could interpret the paradox.

She began by doing the little things –
Just sitting nearby,
Lending a hand when it was needed,
Wishing, “Hope you had a good day!” with a smile;

Exuding tiny bits of warmth
Like the rosy glow of the Sun at dawn.
Slowly, the “aloof” one began to respond,
With nods first, and then, small talk.

Yes, she had been through a lot in life.
She’d seen her trust being betrayed in the past.
That was the reason for the “Do Not Disturb” sign,
And the “I’m busier than everyone” facade.

But that had all changed in the past few days.
Everyone around her was pleasantly surprised
To see her face light up with happiness,
Because one of them really read the “Do Not Disturb” sign.

The Art of Not Caring

Yes, I must admit.
I’ve been struggling to learn this for a long time –
The art of not caring,
Not letting the tiny things bother me in my life.

Like the birds.
They’re there everywhere, isn’t it?
I can travel to any part of this world,
And there will be birds that flock and flit.

So, why bother to keep a bowl of water
For them in the balcony during summer?
Aren’t they just like the air?
They were and always will be there!

Like the child who eats chips
And throws the packet on the streets!
Well, what more can you expect?!
The plastic packet is anyhow useless when empty.

So, why bother to school the kid?
After all, one disciplined child won’t change anything!
They are happiest when they play and eat,
And isn’t this what keeps the Earth spinning?

Like that person frazzled by the heat
And keeps all the fans running!
Anyway, the money’s there for the electricity.
The bills are paid on time, and that’s about it.

So why bother to turn off the fans when not in use?
What difference will it make?
Someone else may walk into that room
And will end up switching on the fan again!

Yes, I’ve been struggling to learn this,
And I keep failing at it miserably!
I know there’s a long way I have to go,
But fret not, I’m working hard towards it!

Until then, I will care about the birds,
And the litter on streets, and the electricity.
Maybe one day, I’ll finally learn how to uncare,
And these tiny things will no longer bother me.

Namaste!

Welcome to India, my country,
Where traditions have been made by the Gods themselves!
And, as you arrive, I greet you humbly
With a bowed head and my palms joined in a namaste.

With this, we connect in a positive and mindful way.
The only transaction is respect, and not bacteria or viruses.
With this, I’m calm with my energies in a balanced state.
My thoughts are unified, and negativity stays away.

O guest! The divine in me honors the divine in you.
For your visit, this is an expression of my gratitude.
With this gesture, you will stay in my memory too.
You are a God, and so, that’s how I welcome you.

When it comes to the inheritance of traditions,
The namaste has withstood the test of time.
This was how my ancestors greeted each other in veneration,
And when I do the same, they reflect in me – every time.

I Remember You

I remember you
As if it was just yesterday.
You were sitting near the window,
And I was narrating an incident
From many years ago
When I fell in trouble at work
Due to a misunderstanding
Caused by an email.
A smile spread across your face,
And you started laughing
A hearty belly laugh.
It was unexpected, yes,
But, then, I suddenly could see
The funny side of the story.
And in that moment,
I started laughing, too.

I remember
As if it was just yesterday.
You took me out for an evening walk.
The next day, I had an examination,
And I was worried about a classmate
Beating me to the first position.
And, it was at that time that you said
That my race was only with myself
And not against the other children.
If I kept performing better than before,
Then, I would reach the highest score.
All at once, my perspective shifted.
Studies became less of a burden
And more of an enlightenment.

I remember
As if it was just yesterday.
You tucked my sister and me into bed
Saying “Good night” in a sing-song voice,
And we too said “Good night” in that tune.
Then, you said, “See you later, alligator.”
And we repeated, “See you later, alligator.”
Then, you asked us to wiggle our toes,
And laughed and wiggled our tiny toes.
Then, you sang a nonsensical melody
Like “Ching pong ching ding dong ding.”
And we repeated this after you, singing,
And all the while, we kept giggling.
This was our childhood nightly ritual.

I remember everything
As if it was just yesterday.
And, though well-meaning folks say
You’ve passed on to the heavenly realms,
To me, you’re very much present –
Sitting on your rocking chair
Or reading the newspapers
Or doing things that seem mundane.
Like watching the news on television
Or talking on the phone with your friends.
For the others, you may have left,
But to me, you’ll always be there.
My dearest papa, I can never forget.
I remember you like it was just yesterday.

The Nosey Affair

My nose, my nemesis.
It’s a well-known fact –
The mirror never lies.
It reveals all without tact.

And yet, the more I stare
At my reflection in it,
My nose becomes larger
Like an overgrown pumpkin.

Pumpkins belong in markets,
But this one’s stuck on me
Right in the center of my face
Where a nose should’ve been!

There are so many times
I feel like going into hiding,
For when I see people smile,
I think my nose is the reason.

And so, my mother found me
In tears on one evening.
I had been invited to a party
And didn’t want to attend it.

My mother heard me patiently
As I bawled about my nose.
Then, my teary face, she wiped,
And, these words, she spoke.

“The Moon is not perfect
Though it seems to be so.
It has an uneven surface
With craters all over.

And yet, it shines every night
Unhindered by its flaws,
Defying darkness with its light,
And never seeks applause.

Look beyond perceptions,
At the beauty, you radiate.
You just need acceptance
Firstly, from your own self.

Your nose doesn’t define you.
You are not its size or shape.
You, my dear, are the Moon
That can light up every way.

So, wipe off these tears
And wear that lovely dress.
Throw out all your fears
And put your mind to rest.”

So, I heeded her advice
And went off to the party.
All was perfect that night,
As I finally saw myself clearly.

It’s been years since then.
I don’t feel bothered anymore
By the seeming imperfection
Of the way I look and my nose.

The Homemaker

My home is what I make.
It’s my full-time occupation.
I give it my all every day
Without any expectation.

My home is my family,
And I am because of them.
Laughter, music, and wit,
Are all a mandatory tradition.

My home is my temple.
I’m the keeper of its purity.
To all that enters, I’m watchful,
And evil has no place in it.

My home is my expression.
It’s a mirror of what I feel.
Every detail and decoration
Is arranged intentionally.

My home is what I live for,
And, I don’t earn a salary.
But yes, I’m a homemaker
And this is enough for me.

The Girl and the Moon

They tried so hard to make her see
That the moon was just a rock.
They tried so hard to kill her dreams
And suppress all her thoughts.

She said the moon was a ball of yarn
The Night Fairy used, to stitch each star,
In the blanket that she’d knit till dawn
For every living thing near and far.

She said the moon was made of cheddar,
And an old woman lived on it
With an old mouse and an old heifer.
They made the moon grow small and big.

She said the moon was a bowl of rice pudding,
And if you wished upon it before sleeping,
The Night Fairy would tiptoe into the kitchen
And leave for you, a bowl, with a big serving.

“But that’s not true,” they all exclaimed.
“The Moon’s just a rock floating in space!”
Her voice drowned in all their claims,
And she agreed with all they had to state.

The wanderer was witness to all of this,
And he scribbled in his manuscript.
“Mediocrity is the biggest enemy of genius,
And the Moon’s just a rock because of it.”

The Mosquito and Me – A War Story

Night-time.
During the great Indian summer.
With no respite
From the heat and sweat as folks slumber.

With a power cut in the neighborhood,
I flung open the window and curtains
Hoping for the breeze to do me some good,
But the warm gusts brought no changes.

As I drifted in and out of sleep,
I became conscious of a presence.
And, although I was so drowsy,
My senses were heightened.

It started with a humming
A stretched low mmmmmm.
Then, an ominous silence –
And my eyelids drooped again.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp “pritch!”
By pritch, I mean a prick and an itch,
And that jolted me out of my sleep.
Cursing loudly, I turned on the light switch.

It took me time to adjust my sight,
But there she was in all her glory –
A mosquito in her flight,
And that was the start of this war story.

In a rage, I leapt up towards her,
But missed squashing her narrowly.
As if taunting me, she buzzed slower
And inched closer towards me.

Not to be outdone, I dodged sideward
Trying to catch her with one hand.
Missed again! Oh yes! She was clever
As she mmmmed away unharmed.

I stared at her with focused intent.
Was that her laughter or just my mind?
Then, the chase commenced,
As I smacked my hands many times.

Of her death, I was so convinced,
But when I stopped, I wasn’t right.
Into my view, she flew with nonchalance,
As if mocking at my plight.

Furious, I folded a newspaper
“Never give up,” a caption read.
I jumped about whacking the air,
But she was indomitably still there.

In disbelief, I went towards the balcony
And opened the door to gasp the cool air.
Dawn was breaking across the sky slowly
As she finally cruised outside with flair.

The battle was won, though I lost the war,
But here is the lesson you should know –
Never underestimate the power
Of a common mosquito.

The Samosa and Me

I don’t clearly recall when I first tasted it.
It could’ve been at one of the parties
Or bought home by visiting relatives.
But, I do recall falling head over heels,
In that instant, when I ate it.
A deep-fried Indian pastry
Filled with spiced potato, onion, and peas,
Called a samosa, commonly,
Got my taste buds addicted, delightfully.
And, this is where the story begins.
When I was a child, I loved this treat,
And as I was a child, I got away with it.
When I grew older, it wasn’t a mystery –
The samosa had a hand in shaping me.
The scrumptiously delicious pastry
With its spicy potato filling and chutney
Was why my waist size had increased,
And my hormones were swinging wildly.
But, my taste buds were hooked on to it,
And it took me a hospital visit
To realize that I had to cut down on it.
With the years, I grew wiser, definitely –
And I ate one, ok, at times two, daily.
“But you have to stop,” they all tell me,
“For the samosa is your worst enemy!”
So now, it’s salads that are healthy,
And soups made of boiled veggies.
The samosa on my plate is history,
And that’s the end of my tragic story.

You, Me and the Night Sky

Me: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
You: I see millions of stars shining so brightly.

You: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
Me: I see millions of stars smiling at me.

Me: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
You: I see the stars create constellations so pretty.

You: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
Me: I see one vast constellation for humanity.

Me: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
You: I see the stars forming Taurus; that’s me!

You: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
Me: I see every star’s glow completing the night’s tapestry.

Me: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
You: I see the constellations changing with the seasons.

You: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
Me: I see each star waltz to a cosmic tune gracefully.

Me: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
You: I see what you mean and completely agree.

You: When you look at the night sky, what do you see?
Me: I see that without you, I’d never really see.

My Favorite Book

Many books fill my cupboard –
Each one, a portal to another world –
Books of stories and fairy tales
And books of verse to brighten the day.

But the one whose pages I adore,
The book I love forevermore
Was a gift by my grandmother –
A cookbook that she’d put together.

This book is my true blue friend –
My soul and tummy medicine.
Its pages are full of ingredients
And the methods of cooking them.

It doesn’t matter how my day has been,
If I’m over the moon or feeling sullen,
The food I make is fingerlickin’,
For there’s a recipe for every occasion.

This is a book I treasure the most.
The more I read, the more I explore.
It leads me down a neverending road
Of baking, frying, steaming, and more.

And what leaves me truly astonished
Is that there’s nothing like errors in it –
For an error is actually an opportunity
For me to cook up a yummy new dish.

Once Upon A Wall

The hunt is on,
And in the grasslands,
Stands a solitary mammoth.

The hunters close in
Silently and downwind
With coordinated movements.

At the leader’s signal,
They launch the attack
With their pikes and spears.

The hunt is a success,
And there’s enough food
For the entire settlement.

Later, they illustrate
The entire event
On the walls of their cave.

Maybe, to celebrate,
Or maybe as a guide
For future generations.

Walls – they may be built
Of lifeless stones,
Or bricks and cement.

Yet, they are alive
And are full of tales.
Yes, they, too, have a voice!

Like the walls of my home
That are due a renovation –
Of paint, a new coat.

As I unhang the photographs
And the paintings.
I feel myself going back

In time, to the memories
That I somehow left behind
And reminisce all the stories.

These are no longer objects
Of mere decorations,
But of my family, little snippets –

Of the times we cherished,
Of days spent together,
Of the people we miss.

This is the inheritance
That I’d leave behind
For my future generations.

Each one with a narrative
Very much like the drawings
On the cave walls in the ice age.