Saturday, 29 June 2013


A true romantic once said "Heart is a reservoir of love".  AMEN.

Wish it is/were always true. But the harsh truth is that it is contrary to the above statement.

The little four chambered heart is a palatial mansion , housing anger, grief . guilt , envy , doubt, jealousy , fear , shame. They  dwell in every corner of the heart as siblings and rightful owners and permanent residents with no flicker of hope of ever abandoning the dilapidated structure and the massive ego , serving as a faithful caretaker cum secretary. How we wish that these negative emotions had a 'leave and license agreement' of only 11 nano seconds and could never be renewed.

'Till death do us apart', is their vow and they stubbornly refuse to vacate the crumbling structure but weaken the foundation of love, trust and understanding. By being active, these demonic emotions release bad hormones akin to poison , wrecking the body mechanism to push the soul in a bottomless pit.

The negative emotions either singly or in a combined effort desecrate the sanctity of the holy shrine that God has blessed us with. 

The negative emotions should be bull-dozed from their present place and buried deep in the grave-yard with a tomb inscribed on it,   " REST IN PEACE , MY NEGATIVE EMOTIONS".


Do not suffocate yourself. Break free. Just say no to negative emotions.

                                    FOR : THE WRITE TRIBE WEDNESDAY PROMPT # 7

Write Tribe Prompt



Haiku Heights Badge
Three Lines From Your Heart, A Haiku Art


       fire-fly hovers

           dark forest.
Lovers fleeing from parents
     Fireflies lead way.


           Dark night
        twinkling stars
  or fire-flies in the sky.

Twinkling fire-flies in the sky.

                                                FOR :- HAIKU HEIGHTS # 260 - FIREFLY

Friday, 28 June 2013


The bright yellow doors of the coffee-shop were half open, reflecting the state of my mind, undecided. Should I meet her? or retrace my steps and cancel our rendezvous citing a bad head-ache. But a small corner of my heart wanted to do no such thing and was imploring me to enter into the coffee-shop. I followed the diktat of my heart and walked towards the coffee-shop. A red-bicycle was parked at the entrance.

I sat at the corner-table over-looking the view outside. Sridevi would be here after  15 minutes. It started to drizzle. The pedestrians had opened their colourful parasols taking refuge under its shade. On a rainy day like this , I would have loved to walk without the protective cover of a parasol , to drench myself. But not today. The memories of a similar rainy day, 22 years ago came flooding into my mind.

22 YEARS AGO.....................

On a rainy day , the raindrops took a demonic shape and lashed out , hurling pebbles angrily to the ground and the wind blowing, freely. I was doing my 'riyaz' (practising singing) with my music teacher Pandit Ravi . Raag 'Megh Malhar' was  in progress. 

The  rains, thunder , melody of music and the togetherness proved to be a perfect concoction for the inevitable.  

Two months later, amma ( mother)  noticed the missing menstrual cycle and the secret that I had caged in my heart,  hoping that things would turn out in my favour,was out. Appa (father) packed me off to a distant relative's house in a remote village , to bear the fruit, shrouded in secrecy, so that  the family honour would not be tarnished.

Two years later, I was married  to  a wealthy business family. I dare not ask the whereabouts or the gender of my progeny and was dissuaded from discussing about it with my new household members.


The rains lashed at the window panes blurring the scenes on the roadside. A young girl wearing trousers and a light grey tee-shirt , with strands of  red beads around her neck, walked in, looking around. She came to my table and asked," Are you Madhuriji?".

I kept staring at her. I was seeing my own reflection. I replied in affirmative.

"Please call me Ma, ( which means mother) abbreviation  for  Madhuri" said I.

I was associated with an NGO, working for the betterment of the girls from economically backward classes.

She was collecting statistics and data for her project.

After appa's demise, I managed to track down my past. The girl child , I had given birth to , had been adopted by  appa's childless friend and reared the child as their own. Fate had brought my girl close to me but I chose, by circumstances, not to reveal my true identity to her.

I ordered two cups of strong coffee with extra sugar. Our tastes  are similar. After all she is my own flesh and blood.

She rose to leave. I looked lovingly at her. For her, I was just another social worker.

She went out of the coffee house and  hailed a cab.

  Sitting inside the cab, Sridevi  smiled to herself and thought. I will look like my Ma when I am forty years old.The project was just a ploy to meet my reflection.


Thursday, 27 June 2013






Trying my hand at alliteration while including the word smooth. I know its crazy. But life is fun with a little craziness. Isn't it?


Wednesday, 26 June 2013




       Suspicion crawls
Groping in the dungeons of mind.
    fettered by chains of doubt
 Venom becomes the conqueror
  Gasps for breath, the white dove.
                                                                          The positive mind
                                                                      make an attempt , futile
                                                              To disentangle from the spider's web
                                                                      the germ is surrounded
                                                                           by  intricate maze
                                                                                 of lies and
                    A valiant warrior
        defends with the amour of truth
breaks the sword of suspicion, poison, envy
               frees the prisoner dark
                 restores the sanctity
                   of temple of mind.


Boy unwinds thread spool
kite flies higher.
Ambitions soar.

Couple kiss good byes.
giant metal bird takes-off.
Long distance marriage.

14 Colourful musical fountain

    Child claps
Sways to the breeze.
musical fountains rise.

                   FOR - HAIKU HEIGHTS # 259- CRESCENDO


Haiku Heights Badge 

Monday, 24 June 2013


He came inside the house,  leaving pale muddy footprints on the floor. I asked him to remove his shoes and clean his feet and hands.He glared at me but obeying , entered the bathroom.He must have had a fight with Ravi or Akash , I concluded.

He came out washed and dried and sat on the sofa opposite me.

"Rahul, here is your milk", handing him the glass.

He gulped it down. Milk was his favourite drink and he banged the glass on the center-table with a thud. I gave him a stern look.

"What is the matter?" asked I.

He did not reply, but stared blankly at the ceiling.Then making eye contact with me , he said in a low voice," I want to tell you something, mommy".

"Yes tell me " said I with a smile on my face, folding the clothes that I had pulled down from the cloth line and not looking at him, immersed in the chore but mentally  prepared to hear his long stories of fights and arguments with his play mates in the park.

" Ravi's mommy and daddy will be going for a divorce".

"Mommy, will you and daddy divorce ?"

I slowly looked at his face, keeping aside the freshly washed clothes. His face was sad and a thousand tempests were raging in his little mind. His nervous demeanor suggested that things were a bit serious.

"Why do you ask Rahul?"

"You and daddy had an argument today while I was going to school"

"It was a discussion , my child."

"Ravi 's parents fight everyday . Ravi and his mommy will be going to his nani's place (maternal grandmom). Today was his last evening with me".

I pulled him close to me and hugged him. His cheeks were wet and he was trying to suppress his sobs.

How was I going to explain a six year old that sometimes relationships do not work out and people have to part ways. The adults partly solved their problems by moving away from each other and later moving on , in life. But the uprooted tender sapling  finds it difficult or at times impossible to thrive in a different environment. Ravi was punished for no fault of his . But he was the most affected party.

I explained to Rahul that his parents would always be with him .What happened with Ravi's family need not happen with every family.

Tonight , I have to talk to my husband.


Saturday, 22 June 2013


 The Homing Pigeons...

The Indian English writing industry is witnessing a golden era with bloggers trying their hand at full length novels, professionals from all walks of life, quitting their high profile, high paying jobs to plunge into the whirlpool of writing. People with a passion for writing are walking on the road less travelled, often switching careers which have no connection to writing. And the Indian writers are not left behind, often encouraging the authors to take their passion to the next higher level. I salute the brave, bold and enterprising authors of our country.

Sid Bahri is a debutante author who is a hotelier by education, an ex-banker, is now a struggling entrepreneur and a happy writer. He is an avid blogger and cooking stories is his passion. It is difficult to believe that 'Homing Pigeons' is his debut novel and he has all the traits of a seasoned and sensitive writer. Readers keep a watch on this bright star.

The story deals with the protagonists , Aditya and Radhika who are school-mates, attracted to each other but choose to remain silent on the matters of the heart and the story takes a twist.

Radhika's yearning for love and acceptance is deeply rooted in her childhood.Even though she has biological and foster parents , she is pushed from one set of parents to another , unwanted, thus craving for love. In search for love her martial status changes from a divorcee to a rich widow, who yearns for freedom which comes at a price.

Aditya and Radhika meet and drift apart, meet and again drift apart by fate and circumstances and compounded by their weakness. 

Finally they have to come together as homing pigeons have an innate and uncanny ability to find their mate.This is a love story with a difference as no two people are the same.

Not all love stories are perfect, but then neither are people, printed on the cover page strikes an instant cord while picking up the book in a shop/store.The reader  cannot keep the book down. Such is the magnetism of this book. Aditya and Radhika come out alive, entwining the readers with their emotions and continue to be a part of our lives long after completing the book.

Parental love and indifference, friendship, love, lust are all human emotions juxtaposed beautifully. Readers can identify themselves with the two protagonists as they sacrifice their love and ambitions for family , society and ego.

The surprise package of the book is Divya, an advertising professional who is bold , brash , blunt and without inhibitions and who is unafraid to quench her bodily desires in exchange of money.

The author signs off the book on a positive note.

Happy reading.

Kalpana Solsi.

Friday, 21 June 2013




He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. It was 6.30 am. The sun rays were peeping from the side of the thick curtain heralding the onset of a lovely day. He got up and pushed the curtain aside to get a full view of the thick green blanket that Nature had spread out.The chirping of the birds was music to his ears. He took a deep breath of pure fresh air and filled his lungs. These were the precious amenities that the country side could offer. Both of them had left behind  promising job offers in the city.

He turned around . She was still curled up in the bed.He looked at her lovingly. Her thick black hair was generously spread across the pillow and a smile seem to rest on her soft face. The door bell rang.He hurriedly quickened the length of his footsteps lest the further ringing of the bell would wake up Ananya.

At ten minutes past seven Ananya woke up to a room filled with lovely pink roses. A box of chocolates rested by the side of roses. Ananya had a weakness for roses and chocolates.Both of them were competing for her attention for she could not decide which of the two was her favourite.

She bathed and  came to the kitchen where Rahul had laid the table for her.

He took her in his arms and kissed her, curling the wet strands that fell on her face . He fished out a small red velvet box and gingerly pushed a diamond ring on her ring finger. "Happy wedding anniversary" , he wished her.She too wished him and kissed him.

A year ago they were united in holy matrimony and both of them decided to shift to the country side to serve the rural community, against the wishes of their parents.

Today they had decided to spend time with each other . Ananya and Rahul were having their sumptuous breakfast when the phone rang. Rahul picked up the receiver . A voice on the other end of the line was to be heard, "Dr. Rahul...........................

Rahul touched his forehead in anguish and said a silent prayer. Placing the receiver back on the hook , he turned around. Ananya was ready with two stethoscopes and a box. They had to hurry to the Primary Health Center for an emergency call . The celebrations could wait but not the precious life of the newborn baby girl child. They had to save her.

In India, many people die each year for lack of medical facilities and paucity of doctors who hesitate to go for rural postings . Rahul and Ananya had decided to dedicate their lives for the welfare of the weaker  section of the society.

P.S :-  This post is not intended to criticize/blame the medical fraternity nor glorify anyone.


The fat hen moved
 deposits an egg.
    It's my lunch.

She feeds the starving
from her fertile womb
     Mother Earth.

Opened lunch box of her heart
            aroma wafted
      Satiated my hungry soul.

                                            FOR : HAIKU HEIGHT # 258 LUNCH

Wednesday, 19 June 2013


The short athlete
Sprints down the track
to pole-vault 
over the bar.

Lands down in rhythmic motion
to a standing ovation
of the packed stadium.

The athlete refers to the short life of a human on this planet. The track is symbolic of the path assigned to him. The athlete has to jump high over the bar, overcoming the negative human emotions of anger, jealousy, anger , hate  and fragile ego. On conquering these long demons of evils, man is at peace and hence the thunderous applause.

The long and short of it. 

Tuesday, 18 June 2013


                    The waves lashed
                walked deep into the sea.
                   Her feet were dry.

                     She walked with me
                        hand in hand
                    shadowless companion.

                       Life is an enigma
                       of jig-saw puzzle


We all love to receive gifts.Be it our birthday,wedding anniversary , a promotion  etc. Receiving it from loved ones , instills a confidence in oneself of being wanted and loved. No, I am not referring to the monetary aspect or the exclusiveness of the object. But a gift received with pure love.This May I received a birthday gift nay a belated birthday gift from Privy Trifles , my  friend on a popular net-working site. We are virtual friends , who have never met face-to-face but there is a two-way connection, blessed from some one in the clouds. Who says friends from social networking sites are just for 'liking', 'sharing' and 'commenting'. and I have strong hopes that one day we will meet and our friendship will only be stronger in the days to come.

  Thank you Privy for making my day a special and memorable one. Books are one of the greatest companions.                                                              
                                  FOR:- THE WRITERS POST THURSDAY BLOG # 81




Photo: For all the aspiring authors Half Baked Beans is organizing a creative writing workshop! Who are other speakers? Timing? Venue?Just check out the poster for all the details!

Link for FB event:
And you can get tickets at:

PS: This is a non-profitable event. The cost of tickets is because of venue, food, infrastructure, goodies and other stuff. And we sincerely assure that you won't find even a single penny of yours getting wasted!


Saturday, 15 June 2013



                         Held him close
                  Ripples in the right breast.
                        Baby suckles milk.                                                                                          

                                                            A leaf falls                                  
                                                         creating ripples
                                                    Disturbing my reflection.

                                                                                                      On parched barren land.
                                                                                                           Rain drops ripple      
                                           A blade of grass spurts.                      


                                                                   FOR:-  HAIKU HEIGHTS


Thursday, 13 June 2013


                              March ahead, move on.
                       Prods the practical mind, forlorn.
                       But the heart has its own reason.
                Cajoles, stay behind, do not be a party to treason.

                                                                                      Dilemma flanked on either side.
                                                                                          In whom shall I confide?       
                                                                                      My soul is in fragments: torn
                                                                                    My body is bruised and  shorn.

                          Move on : its the need of the hour.
                            Unaccompanied feelings of sour.
                          The skeletons of the past haunt.
                              Let not the shadows daunt. 

                                                                                           Jettison the excess baggage.
                                                                                 Drown the ghosts of fears in the barrage.
                                                                                Harnessing the energies towards a bright life
                                                                                     Nipping the internal turmoil and strife.

                       Crossover to the greener pasture
                               and to a brighter future.
                            For we all have only one life: 
                                 Live life to the fullest.  

Saturday, 8 June 2013

I write..................

I WRITE...........

I write
          to express a part of me,
          that I feel and see.

I write
          When my tears fail,
           to send a mail,
           to the world outside
           that I can no longer hide.

I write
          When my heart overflows
           with hurts and blows.
           That I cannot take more,
           of pain and sore.

I write
          to rewind the golden moments,
          to relive certain rich fragments,
          of the innocent and pristine days,
          that I cannot harbour in any bays.

I write
          when I am happy.
          when I am lonely.

I write
          because there is a smile on my face
          because this is the only solace.

I write
          because I am alive.
          Because I write, I am alive.

And if I don't write
                             I will lose my soul.

Friday, 7 June 2013


Battles are  won , not with artillery or ammunition,
but with a heart full of love, 
a smile on the face and soothing words.


For : Poetry Jam

Monday, 3 June 2013


NIRVANA *      

Catching up with my breath, I stretched myself comfortably on the soft ground that sunk slightly under the weight of my body. Removing my ear-plugs, I feasted my eyes on the canvas that Mother Nature had spread lavishly before me.

The fine grainy brown sand interspersed with dark black grains of its similar kind had woven together into a mesmerizing geometric pattern which a weaver would love to replicate it on his loom with cotton or silk threads. Perhaps the artisan sought refuge in the lap of Nature for his inspiration.

 I sat in Vajrasana# pose, practicing my breathing exercises. The Bay of Bengal breeze blowing on my face managed to cool my mind, body and spirit. This is Nirvana, I concluded. The turbulent waves, surf and sand formed an inseparable trio to complete the perfect picture.

On the lonely beach, my mind was distracted by some movement. I opened my eyes to see an eight year old girl searching for an appropriate spot. She did not seem to be a tourist or an early morn jogger.
“What is your name and where do you live?”  I asked her.

“Saraswati” said she and gestured with her index finger to the distant settlement of thatched huts, indicating her place of stay. She belonged to the fishermen community.

She had settled down on the steep reclining slope of the beach and instantly her deft hands started to knead the wet grainy sand into heaps of un-uniform shapes. In no time a small castle was ready. She then decorated the castle with sea-shells and flowers that she had brought along with her. Saraswati then admired her creation and wrote her name on sand as any famed painter would sign off, putting a stamp of exclusivity.
Satisfied, Saraswati came and sat beside me, smiling exposing her toothless gum. Her strands of hair were flying with the wind and she curled them and secured them with an aid of a pin. I watched her movements with growing fascination.

The turbulent waves lashed the shore with vengeance, each wave outdoing the other in the mad dance of frenzy, receding away, taking with them Saraswati’s masterpiece. I felt sad for the girl but there was no trace of any emotion of regret or sadness on Saraswati’s tanned face.

“You should have built the castle far away from the waves”, said I, trying in vain to console the little girl.
“The sea has given birth to the sand and the sand will ultimately go into the sea’s womb ”, answered  Saraswati .

This reply of hers drenched me completely. The little girl belonging to the fishermen community was an ocean of knowledge and I felt myself like a grain of sand in her presence. I felt drawn towards her. She had managed to condense a colossal philosophy into an oyster and had mouthed pearls of wisdom. True.  Nature is the Supreme Creator and Destroyer too and humans play a small role in this process. But the irony is that mortal beings tend to put themselves on a higher pedestal and forget or choose to ignore that they are mere puppets attached to a string and Nature holds the reins. Today I have attained Nirvana.

* Nirvana is an ancient Sanskrit term used in Indian religions to describe the profound peace of mind that is acquired with moksha(liberation). It is a state of being free from suffering.

# vajrasana - Yoga- The practitioner sits on the heels with the calves beneath the thighs. This pose helps in digestive issues like constipation and strengthens the muscles of the legs and back.