daughter

The snow-capped mountains are ever inviting. May be freshness of the snow, pristine surroundings, the chill and the cold for the us, the sun baked Indians. Most of us are just to eager to get the lifetime opportunity of feeling the snow, throw it at each other, trample on it for the soft crushing noises. I was in such a place in winters, where every thing less you froze. Be it the streamlets, or the massive lakes nothing moves. The life comes to a standstill and the winter wind hits u hard on your exposed face dipping the mercury below 30es and 40ies. As if you are in a deep freezer praying for some heat, wishing it gets over early and may be travel down to greener pastures. Each passing day weakens you but strengthens your inner strength to fight it out and say “ this to shall pass”. You keep finding the moments to be out in the sun when its not to breezy and forget about the sun tans, just to feel good and alive.

            Then comes the spring. As if the huge giant sleeping under the quilt start shaking to life. It is fun. its joy. The birds are in the air awaking each and everyone killing the deadly silence, by their melodious chirps. The ice melts, giving way for the mountain streams to flow, allow the small little steams to play the lap of the mountains, twist and turn, sing and swirl and grow up in to the beautiful maidens who bring in life to the nature. The small little streams reach out to every one, germinates those little sleepy seeds and feed them from their breasts to the plants. They reach out to the wildlife and lure them out of their burrows. Trying to quench the thirsts of each and everyone and still carry on. They bring in life in the mountains with their gushing sounds and the sparkling water. As the ever energetic, bubbly and swift young stream leave the mountains, she blooms into a beautiful maiden, spreading life and freshness and attracting one and all. On her journey, she feeds the civilizations on her banks like a mother, without discriminating any of her children and flows in tirelessly like a mother.

            It was the joyous moment, in my life when I was blessed with a daughter. She can bring in life to each and every thing, be it  living or non living object. She would talk to her toys and the toys would respond to her. Either she is sleeping or our house could be heard from miles. Sons are like the mountains that stand long and strong and daughters are like the rivers full of life.

will and skill

  Whatever be the summer temperatures, we are blessed with pleasing mornings and cool evenings. Just,  I had to be earlier than the sun. Indian summers are not warm, at 40 degrees plus they are hot. I found the early mornings the best time to be out when the ambient light paints the wide canvas with different colours and with varied strokes, awakening the life on the mother earth. Its bliss to walk amidst these ever changing canvases and listen to the tireless chirps. With hardly any man made disturbance, I could savour the flavour of each and every ingredient of one of the most delicious menu on the card.
  There was only one shopkeeper who could beat me in time and was up early in the morning. He was the only person who opened the shutters and began his work. He is a tailor by profession and has a contagious smile on his face. His sparkling eyes, looked more brighter against his sunburned dark complexion. He had lost one leg to polio and used a crutch  to cary himself. He is from a distant land where the markets were to dull and shy to honour his skill as a tailor. In India, he would have earned the same money, may be on a traffic red light, or in font of the temple and gained sympathy and pity of the donors. I admire him for his courage to have that self respect to live a dignified life. He is the best in town in this small portion of the world, thats why he has to be up early in the morning to meet the deadlines. I can tell you, its not easy for a physically handicapped person  to stay away from his family and work day in and day out, not only to meet his needs but also he was funding his siblings back home. I found inspiration in him. At times when I walked past him buried in my thoughts, he would make a point to wish me good morning. His ever smiling face and his lively eyes would say a million words and all those things which were crowding in my mind would collapse.Certainly he has a determined will and a skill for a respectable life and its not the nature of the job, but how well you do it.
I wish he becomes an inspiration to all those who keep on blaming one and all, cursing the stars and get depressed doing nothing. Wish they hone up their skills and have a will to do it.

sone ki chidiya

Post harvest the farms were being ploughed. The atmosphere had a mild smell of fresh earth. The landscape was changing with each passing day as the golden crop laden feilds were turns chocolate brown, as if some child fond of chocolate was spreading it over the huge canvas. A few days back the golden landscape shone up under the bright skies and had a aroma of success, an aroma of happiness, an aroma of the planned marriages. Thats why probably when the raiders invaded India, would have never seen the vast lands of Punjab and the Ganga valley shinning golden yellow at the harvest, and called it “sone ki chidhiya". Prior to the industrialisation and the information revolution, it was all agrarian economy. Richness was measured in terms of land holdings, the crop produce and battles were fought to secure more cultivable land or take home the produce. About seventy percent of India lives in the villages and on agriculture. Each village has its history, its tradition, a dialect and its variation of cultivation, matured over the centuries. With the sun just about to rise, the farmers were in the fields in preparations for the next crop after a rewarding harvest.
 A good harvest brought in rations for the season, new dresses, new vehicles, sweets and plentiful of construction material for the new houses and shops. The new generation with new thoughts, new aspirations, wishes to upgrade from the old house into a “kothi” and may be construct or buy a house or a shop, which can be rented out to meet the ever growing needs. Few years back there wasn't any cement shop in the village but as of now in 2014, hundred plus shops have already cropped up along the new road within a span of a kilometre and construction is the most thriving business.  90 % of them have their shutters down. Earlier the drive on the small village track was through the fields was refreshing and one could inhale the freshness of the farms. Now with each passing day, some cultivable land gets killed with steel and cement and the driver has to  roll up the windows, preferably tune in to loud music to drown the painful voices of the mother earth. Some of the farms would have born thousands of years back, cultivated with sweat and labour to feed the uncountable generations. How difficult it would have been then without any implements to carve out cultivable fields. How easily the efforts and toil of our ancestors gets buried deep under the weight of steel and concrete. With each passing day we are pouring cement into our farms and much more is in the store as 30 of the 100 plus shops store cement.
But any way, we should be happy to move into a big independent house, fix up an ac to remain cool, own some shops or property to fund our lifestyle, hunt some white collar jobs and be part of the development. And the best part of it, that we will be safe from invasions or from raiders as why should some one be interested in cement ki chidiya.

voice

The chirping of the birds woke me up. The sun was still behind the mountains but the sky had the reddish flavour towards the east. With everyone still in the beds and hardly any vehicle plying, I could hear the birds very clearly. Even my wife could here the chatter miles away from me on the phone. It has its own melody. I could decipher about eight to ten different types of the voices. Each one had its sweetness, some were continuous like the chatterbox schoolgirls, some followed a sequence like a drummer who would bang it hard at the end of the stanzas. They spoke in a mystic language, beautifully modulated voices and in the perfect volume which carried their messages without straining their vocal cords. I tried to spot them. I could manage to spot a few of them, amongst so many of them from the mini jungle at my backyard. A thought came to my mind isn't it unsafe for them to announce their locations as there may be some predator lurking near by. Or have they understood the basic truth of life, that each one of us has to perish and whatever small life we have, one should enjoy it to the full, speak your language and be melodious . Be it a small or a big bird, white or dark, fast or slow each one of them had a voice, each one of them aired the voice with freedom. wish I could understand their messages. I find it not that easy to understand our literature, and even if I understand not so easy to follow, then to understand the message in the voice is undoubtedly beyond Me.

an evening

together we stand

Popti picnic at Alibaug

Today the morning was a bit warmer than the previous ones. 16 may in India, its going to be hot. The sun was up early, may be he was also eager to come out and shine, help in harvesting the uncut wheat crop. dry the grains, ripen the mangoes and I don’t know whether he was aware that it was the day when elections results would be out in India. A group of birds caught my eye. They soared high in the skies and as if part of the air show displayed a beautiful arrow formation. Scientifically it helps each on of them to conserve energy and use the turbulent air and effortlessly they would fly over miles. The leader, at the tip of the arrow, faced the maximum resistance but within them they changed the leader. There are winds of change in India too and Namo would lead the flock. A thought just came to me, who would have taught these birds? can’t imagine an aeronautical school of them. Are they intelligent or have we stopped being one? When the birds could come together and cross miles, why is it difficult for us to take a step forward together? The moment we do it,we would have moved mountains, we ll have memories to cherish and beautiful pics in our albums. Together We stand,…….

Maa

The first thing I see when I open my door is the beautiful, ever dominating the Trikuta mountain, atop where resides the Vaishno mata. The feature stands tall overlooking the evergreen Chenab valley. it is so mystic that its beauty has a different flavour in each time of the day, month, year. Thats why everyone throng to this place throughout the year, though the main reason is to receive the blessings. Sometimes I walk up to the bridge on the Chenab river and watch the Trikuta getting drenched in reddish tinge of the setting sun. As the sun descends the colour gets darker and its bliss to hear the chenab flowing down below and the chirping birds returning home. One can feel the light chill as it starts getting darker. The silhouette of the Trikuta provides you a unmatched confidence. Yes, you can retire now and sleep peacefully as if the mother has stretched out to hold you to the bosom and singing a lullaby. Her presence could be felt from miles away from her, be it a day or at night. Its true that she comforts you as a mother and make you feel like a child wiping out your worries. Each time I walked back, my mind was so calm, my thoughts so clear and had a spring in my stride, energized and charged for tomorrow. As I walked back in the dark, I couldn't help myself looking back and wish her goodnight. She stood tall wearing a beautiful diamond necklace with a comforting smile on her face. How much I miss you maa.

sunset

the choice

The morning walk has become my habit. Earlier it was the morning run till I hurt my knee and now I feel comfortable to walk. Now I enjoy the walk as unlike in the run, I am able to feel the nature more intimately. Running increases your heart beat, the heavy breathing drowns the essence of nature, the speed of running changes the scenes too quickly and thus doesn't allow you to soak in the beauty. Till then I never ever felt so good. It was all there, its still there but unless you tune in to a radio station you cannot hear the radio and decipher the radiations in the air, one needs to tune in to the beauties of nature. Its then I realized that I, like most of us, was running, running and running with thousands of ‘to do’ things in my mind. My life was to be a good child who could recite the poems for the guest uncles and aunts, a good student who could get bag full of marks in the examinations so that my parents and relatives could have a spring in their stride, a good sportsman who had won some trophies though for myself but more so for my team and my organizations, an exemplary professional so that the bosses could bank on me. I worked hard, got an appreciation, worked harder and even harder to get more of it.   I had missed something very important. “kuch pane ke liye kuch khona padta hai”. Wish I knew what to choose and what to loose.

morning mist

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It was a very pleasant morning. the sun was yet to peep out from his quilt, the clouds hung low, though not covering the entire space but were spread out by an passionate artist not evenly but with that feather touch. at places the clouds were like the translucent silk veil, which the moon had donned it at the night. the breeze was fresh and carried the mild chill from the snow clad himalayas. each breath of it brought in new life. it carried the aroma of the freshly harvested fields with a dash of smoked dung. light smoke roe from the morning fires light by the ever energetic ladies to start their morning chores of next to the buffaloes to ward off the mosquitoes. the birds were up and filling the atmosphere with their music chirping endlessly as if part of a big symphony. some of them soared in the skies as if they are kings, some soared high, some even higher, some fluttered with such an ease, some dived to practice their moves, some dived to catch the morning prey. some birds displayed formations as if the greatest of the air show was on. the cattle moved lazily towards the greener grass. everyone awaited the sun, thought the twilight had spread its golden colour across the valley and painted the clouds with a touch of gold. the sun has its own charm. even before rising, it mystifies the entire atmosphere with ever changing colours, energizes each and everyone, ........ brings in life to everything. Wish I could be a sun.