Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye……..

RAINBOW

sometimes the heart sees what

…….is invisible to the eye…….

the gliding fledglings……

…… nestling in the sky…..

the roaring cloud…….

pouring down……

with applaud…..

…..the drenched fragrance……

enhancing the trance……….

Rain….thunder….

it seems to the eye

….sometimes the heart sees

what is invisible to the  eye…..

with rain drops for commuters

as the clouds ply……

trees bow down….

for this reverential try…..

flowers herald….

the celebration of universe…..

god’s indomitable treasures

and facets of pleasures……

the seven arcs………..

hum the hymn of life…….

amending colours

exhibiting the variability of life

 sometimes the heart sees….

what is invisible to the eye….

rain sulks…to our umbrellas and sigh

….its festivity……the nature at its high

a few words of wisdom,

it yearns to teach us………….

the art of nature………to mutely preach us

the heart feels things,invisible to the eye

squeezed to the core………….

look at the rainbow in the sky…….RAINBOW1

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The lost toy……………………..

The little shop dazzled with miniature toys,challenging any wandering eye to transport their gaze to any  another outlet in the vicinity.

Ashu called out, “Mamma,  that toy is smiling at me.”.This had been his endearing way of demanding toys.

I was dragged inside, a universe of toys,  seemingly squealing and squeaking.

However my two little ones stopped at a toy torch,  and the attraction? the reflection of the light on any surface manifested their favoured cartoon characters.

My card swiped for two little torches, and the flashy minions became the engrossers for the day.

As Annie Dashed through the mall, she fell and the torch broke,Lo and behold! the wails echoed  the mall, and I was engulfed in the ensuing fight,”he is not sharing .”Mine is broken………..

.She dashed at Ashi,Ashi ran to hide, the little torch gleaming in his hand, and small he was, he tried to hide behind a bin.The hand that wrapped the “precious” went up.The flap of the bin opened and his toy vanished in the………..hollow….

vidya-sury-secret-garden[1]both stood grim faced,for having lost the lone one..

Little shoe Vidya Sury

The little leg wrapper,

lay like an invalid…….

as if in grief

twisted and pallid…..

I eyed that little space…..

which cradled a small feet…..

leather webs hitherto…..

shading from heat…….

moaning in quietitude…..

…..with intense zeal

to thrive with……….

two chubby feet’s appeal…….

having fell from the coziness…….

of two tiny tots

…..It seem to be sobbing in grief…….

from this isolation if ….

somebody could reprieve…………

Where was its mate…..?

…..it wondered…..

about its fate……

being the ornament of soft little feets…..

to watch it being worn

must be really a treat…

I peeped and smiled…..

at the little crocs….

….specimen of a sweet hearts’s props……

as I drifted away in thoughts

I saw a boy figure….
beggar boy

lost and distraught……

I turned around to see him……

stature thin and slim……

skin embalmed with layers of dirt….

a look of doubt and smirk….

feets bare….he fancied the one that lay…

they would not fit I said,

buy one I shall pay,

eyes downcast,he mumbled

its for my sibling at home,

but how to use….?

a pair that stands alone……..?

He giggled and said,

one I have at home…..

I found in garbage

I have lived in two different shoes

all my age……………

strangers…………in the night

tropical sunrise

I could hear her breath……………

…………my heart deprived and bereft……

I wish I could hug her…………..

….beg to ,relieve me of that glare……

penalties umpteen I have imposed….

……innumerable times my soul

DEPOSED……………..

The pious association

that made me address her “mother”……..

A decade sped by……………

trying to gather………..

why she  crumples and bounces me…….

……..as my soul deposits in piles of debris

 entwined in matrimony………….

………….life seemed a savory…….

nevertheless………

What echoed was my own whimper

Life hushed up in tumultuous whisper

reasons profound or trivial……..

………….I was left as a refuse………

happiness dissolved…………….

……………..life diffused……

minions progressed to millions……

as we nullified each other’s sight

me and her………

 Strangers in weird sense…………

………………in broad daylight

or in the cloak of the night…

WRITE TRIBE
WRITE TRIBE

 

Its a small world……………..

small world

He held his composure lest it slither away and land into the sceptical hindi heartland ,his heart gambled with anonymous fears that swirled around, he shuddered at the thought of pacing out of that rust coloured cabin of the fuming train,as he travelled from a small hamlet Tavanur canopied in resplendent coconut trees……. in ‘God’s own country.’
The year was 1964, an eighteen year old lad, Shekhar was heading towards his first assignment with the Ministry of Labour, in the National Capital of Delhi.The train came to a halt at the New Delhi railway station,and his heart resounded with the unfamiliarity of the epicentre whose diction,cuisine and mannerisms baffled him.
Shekhar joined Ministry of Labour, where he brainstormed himself to conceptualize the arguments that could justify the bewildered eyes that intensely followed him,interrogating,scrutining eyes that resolved to swallow him.He wondered whether it was the complexion that spoke of his sea sequined motherland that annoyed his colleagues or the fact that his asymmetry with them in many a terms ,which marked him indelible among sugar laden graffitised dialect of the north.
However among the cotorie was one old gentleman,Mr K L Kapoor whose solemn eyes and sombre smile pacified Shekhar to some extent.Mr Kapoor helped him apprehend,the way to conduct himself in the crude punjabi community …..
Year 2001,I had appeared for the final exams of masters in commerce and I get my first interview call from Standard Chartered Bank.I see a guy sitting four places ahead of me,snatching every opportunity to grasp my loitering eyes ,forcing them to hear the musings of the silent waves of his heart which fluttered,beamed and boomed at my sight,as he tells me now. That day was Sep 17,2001.I still have those brilliant moments etched in my heart,that brief period of my life,which caricatured the most incandescent moments of my life andthe inestimable fortune that was bestowed on me….
And now ……..the ultimate qestion….why the world we thrive in is small?………….I came to know that this guy who made me fall head over heels in love with him is the grandson of Mr K L Kapoor…….I got married to him in 2005 and to this day I wonder about the relationship that my father had with his grandfather……..
Truly………………….it’s a small world.

ophidiophobic tendencies………..

The movie edged forward,and the lead actor went in to her own whimsical world………………,
where she visions herself,inching towards the moving train almost on the verge of boarding it.
The above anatomy of words,must have already told you which motion picture it was and I could relate to that fear,not because I have missed trains,but because of the fact that my fears surreptitiously disguise themselves and trudge in to my dreams………….
At the age of 34 I still whirl around the fear of completing my assignments,qualifying exams,which I appeared for, a decennium back.My own insecurities cloaked and hooded loom over me.
Six months back I landed a job in a prestigious school,selected among ten literature candidates for the post of a English teacher.The interview was walk in……..I saw candidates with Wren and Martin Grammar text books in hand,hastily turnining away pages ,bargaining with the nuances of the language to be committed to their memories and I was hushed up,my eyes adamant that it would not stagger near those theorems of the language.
Candidates went in and out of the Principal’s cabin,literature postgraduates,in service English teachers,vacant faces….and I was unable to squeeze out the adventures inside..
I flipped pages of textbooks kept aside….
I was called in,and a middle aged lady,engrossed in pages,contemplating the portrayal of a banker in race for the post of a teacher motioned to me to sit, I introduced myself,and an apprehensive gaze hoisted itself,to cast an eye on me as to why a banker was here for a teacher’s job ?
She gave a cheerful smile,when I articulated the discussion towards domestic responsibilities that led me out of that money handling job,which made me toil for twelve hours a day.
Visibly she was impressed.’you are confident ,she said.why don’t you take a demo class?”
Articles for class VIII?Articles?I gasped,for the past fifteen years Articles never existed for me.
I went berserk…half and hour she said and I took the book…
VIII-C she said in thirty minutes………..
Articles were not clumsy as me,they were agile and bounced into my kitty………….
I joined the school……now after all this,u must be wondering,what is the fear?…………
The dreams that throttle , of me being thrown out of the job…………..reason being…I am not a literature graduate…………
The smothering feeling that I would again be a “no identity”…………like I was for four years when I played a docile daughter in law prompt enough to contentededly asphyxiate her dreams for a congenial ambience at home………
I dread that masqueraded contentment that I imposed on myself…………….
I see the school,my class,adverbs and adjectives,hobbling among the words that I speak…….and I can see the Head of the School……….I never heard what she says, as she tiptoes into my fantasy land………..coiled in clandestine thoughts…
But…………………MY FEAR……….

THE TEACHER WHO INFLUENCED ME MOST….

1441549_10201540815456019_1595292598_n[1]…………………..Her photograph tugged at my heart,I could hear a forlorn rhythm,……….could feel a long lingering fragrance….a reverberating sound of silence that made me glued to her words in the class, time somersaulted in unwavering equalized turns…………….hurling itself into that irresistable enigma…..
She still had that affectionate smile and those solemn eyes which silently heard the voice of my heart……… the grey tinge added to her serenity……………………….and the flowers haggled over the proximity of the august company……………………
I could hear her voice………….her malayalam rumbled with the mixture of her own mother tongue tamil,
her peculiar way of reprimanding her kids,………………and being disgusted at the usage of her ‘favourite’ language-ENGLISH……………as per her, surviving as a cripple among the knighted subjects of education……………
Decades stepped back………… Nouns,Pronouns and Prepositions played hide and seek like a defiant kid………….squealing ………..in my ears……………….,Lessons turned over………..pages discoloured yellow……
…….fascinating stories……….brewing inside them…………..aplhabets knotted together brightened with
colours demanding gruelling attention………….meanings scribbled incoherently……….. taking turns to be a part of the mumblings………………….
the red coloured pen………….that nestled in her fingers and made me crawl to perfection……………….
that smile which told me in innumerable ways………………to strive…………………………….
ENGLISH………………learnt…….Mrs Seetha Rajan’s way………….the teacher who taught me…………to string together words…………..so that they epitomize…………..and celebrate………this wonderful language
which made the two of us place each other at the pedestal of our respective hearts……………….
Years have sped along………….since I ever saw her………………..but she never looses a single moment…..
to whisper in my ears……………..when I dissuade myself from words………………….and its her blessing……………that today……………….I teach this impeccable language………………………..with my utmost efforts………………THE……… Seetha Rajan…….way…………………………………