Let Love Take Charge.....

Painting by Nitisha Sanan

On an unplanned visit to one wonderful friend's house, I happily discovered her amazing talent. She is a remarkable artist and the paintings she had done were right there in front of me, the moment she opened the door. I stood amazed, lost, speechless. It was a hurried visit so I just managed to have a peek at her talent and on my way home, my spellbound mind could do nothing but think of her paintings. I asked her to send a picture of her paintings and she did that promptly. Words came out, heartfelt words and I poured them down, much like the rain and the love that pours in the picture. I dedicate this poem to you, Nitisha, my lovely friend, who has always made us laugh with her jokes. I was so deeply moved by the skill of your strokes Nitisha, that I really really from the bottom of my heart want you to keep painting. Very few there are who have this ability. You are one of them. Please never give this up. Time we all can manage if we want to. I am sure you will too.This one is for you....just for you.....only for you....Thanks for touching my heart so deeply.....Lots of love to you....

She prances with joy
As he holds her hand
They meet today after so long
He had promised, she had doubted
But he came so she is happy
He brings back the smile she had lost somewhere
And carefully he places it back on her face
She weeps but he wipes the tears away
She has pined and waited and waited and waited
Was going away so important?
Was it really worth it?
All the anguish, all the pain?
She asks, he says wash it all away with rain
The little red roof over their head
Shines like an ornament
Her face is crimson too, flushed with too much excitement
He gives her a jewel, she says she cares for it not
She holds his hand tight and asks Will you not go again?
Will you not chase your dreams and leave me behind?
What if you go again and I am turned to dust?
He panics at the thought, he is about to stumble
But she holds her tight, she does not let him fall
His eyes are misty too, he too has loved, he too has sighed the sighs of loneliness
He too has longed for gentle touch, he too has known the agony of emptiness
The two languishing hearts stand in the rain
Thoughtful about their pursuit of happiness
She will not leave his hand and he will not let go of hers
It may rain all night or all day
She knows, and he knows too
Love brought them back together, 
They let love take charge.......


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The Red Shoes

For an unfashionable person like me, buying a red footwear took lot of courage. Add to it the fact that being a woman who buys shoes only when there is need (yes, literally!), and who sins against the entire breed of femininity by owning just 3-4 pairs, the act was one of dare. It lay there on the shelf, audacious and appealing, making my fingers itch and twitch to grab it. The temptation was so sudden and so strong that in a few minutes, the shoes that were adorning the shoe-shop were in my house. My son who LOVES red went gaga over them and would ask me to wear them whenever I went out. And I, in Hamlet-like fashion procrastinated, 'to wear or not to wear.' After I had spent umpteen moments on dawdling, I finally took the pair out and wore them. Needless to say they were attention grabbers. Those who saw them, admired them. It really made me wonder about the wonder of the red shoes. 

Sneakers, loafers, flats, slippers, stilettos, wedges, pumps, heels, slip-ons, sandals, boots.....the list goes on and on. We try different colors and styles for different occasions. But what is so special about that pair of red shoes that you have? Why is it that the red one glimmers and shimmers more? What is so catchy about its gleam and sheen? Why is it that the red shoe allures, enchants, captivates and makes everyone literally bow down? What is the secret to the fascination and seductiveness of wearing scarlet? Was Bill Blass, the American fashion designer right when he said," When in doubt, wear red"?

The color red has often been associated with vigorous energy, with impulse and rashness. It is the color of the blood, the color associated with intrepidity, with adventure, with passion and seduction. In ancient times, red color signified status and rank. It came as a surprise to me when I found out that in France, it was the privilege of the royalty and the courtiers to wear red-dyed shoes. The red shoes signified one's rank and status in the times of Louis XIV during the 17th century. The color red was expensive as an imported insect was used in the making of the red dye and only the rich could afford it. The fashion was lost after that, only to emerge in literature with all its sinful connotations. Hans Christian Andersen's morality tale  The Red Shoes depicted red in all its rashness...it was rage, it was sin, it was uncontrollable force. This interpretation took on a different meaning when in the movie The Wizard Of Oz, the Bad Witch of the East became the wearer of the red shoes, or ruby slippers as they were called but when she was killed, the shoes were passed on to Dorothy, the good girl. The ruby slippers were liked so much that they have been treasured since then as part of film memorabilia. 

So much so about the little history of red shoes. They are a rage now. Luxury brands catering to high-end fashionistas know their trade well when they bathe their shoes in red. Louboutin, majorly famous for his red-soled heels, said that he chose the color because it is "engaging, flirtatious, memorable, and the color of passion". Doesn't this suffice enough as a reason? We carry ourselves on our feet and the feet that is tucked in red sure is a winner. It shows independence, it emanates certitude, it speaks authority, it effuses happiness. Red shoes look modish and voguish. They are the style statement of the urbane stylish women in today's vanity fair. They turn heads by mere tip-toeing. Can there a something as powerful as that? The conspicuous visibility of the red color is never lost by the trotting, tapping, walking, dancing, running feet. The spectacle that unfolds with the red stride is a feast to the eyes. Then why wait, GO DARE!


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[Winds of Change: Embracing the Girl Child. Read here]

Become the One You Write About

I was recently given an opportunity to write a guest post for Deb Hockenberry's Blog KidzTales. Deb is a talented person herself helping others by her insightful views on how to arite for children. Here is the link to the post that appeared on her page. Thanks Deb.

http://www.debhockenberry.com/the-bumpy-road-to-writing-for-children.html



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The Happy Witch

Image Source here

Once on a spooky, scary night

A happy witch saw from some height

A sad girl sitting doing nothing but think

The witch said

Easy Breezy Magic Drink,

Tickle the little girl 

Pink Pink Pink!!!

The girl got up at once and smiled

And the witch went wild, the witch went wild....

The witch then saw a little boy 

Who was bitter and had no joy

Sadly sat next to his toy

The witch said

Easy Breezy Magic Bread

Paint the town Red 

Red Red Red!!!

The boy jumped up and smiled

And the witch went wild, the witch went wild...

The witch then heard a baby cry

A tear fell from the witch’s eye

Her heart cried Oh my Oh my my!

The witch said

Easy Breezy Magic Hair

Make the baby grin from ear to ear!!!

The baby’s cheeks dimpled and she smiled

And the witch went wild, the witch went wild.......

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For My Friend Fly

My son these days has been reading level 1 books and one of his favorites is the Fly Guy series. The first time he brought one of the Fly guy book, I wasn't amused. It just didn't hit the right chord in me. A few days later, another Fly Guy....this time Fly Guy vs. The Fly swatter. I felt an impulse to pick it up and read it. And how I thank my stars that I did that! While reading the book, I started enjoying and I suddenly remembered our India trip when my son was about three years of age. Having been born and brought up in India, things that were there were just there for me....normal, everyday, routine things. But for my son, it was the first time when he was discovering his surroundings. So, picture this....My son is sitting in his room and a fly comes in. Imagine the terrified look such a common and puny creature brought on his face. Yes, yes, I am talking about the makhkhi....the everyday visitor in almost all the houses in India. Visualize my son screaming at the highest pitch possible.....a scream that made me jump wherever I was and as I came rushing to him, terrified that he might have spotted a lizard ...(yikes! I am soooo..... scared of them...), my son said, "Mama...there is a bug in the room and it will bite me..." I looked up and I looked low. I picked up the pillows. I dusted my bed.....But there was no bug. Then again....the scream....."Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa......It's there...". There it sure was....right on the bed's edge, cozy, lazy housefly. I have to admit that I couldn't help and I started laughing. All this while my son stood petrified, hugging me tightly and really really infuriated at my laugh. My mom-in-law rushed from the other room and when I told her what had happened, she started laughing too....but very mindful laughing it was, mind you. She had seen her troubled grandson and she took him in her embrace and said, "yeh to makhkhi hai....ek makhkhi se darta hai beta.....kaise rahega yahan...."(This is just a fly.....you are scared of a fly.....how are you going to live here... ). 

The little fly had disappeared in the meantime and my son started playing again. I explained to him that flies come and go. 'They will not bite you.....but make sure they don't touch what you eat as then your food will get dirty.' He understood and went on with the day. The next day was fly day again....actually from that day, all days became fly days. When he saw the fly next time, my son exclaimed, " Look mama, my friend makhkhi!". This time I was amused more than I had been when he had screamed. The regular visitor was never seen as one having the potential to be a friend. It never entered the house that way but it came to stay there as a friend. My son would quietly observe the fly from a distance. He would sometimes shoo it away and sometimes keep some pretend food for it to eat. And nobody dared mess with his little friend. I am glad that it is difficult to distinguish one fly from the other as my son always thought that the fly that was there in his house was also travelling with him...actually following his friend wherever he went. I did my part be cleaning the corners of the windows and every other possible place where my son could have spotted a dead fly. It may sound hilarious but for a little heart, death in this tiny stature would have assumed a state of enormity. I smile today as I write this.

My son has read The Fly guy vs. The Fly Swatter at least ten times in these two days. When I ask him to do his homework, he first picks up the book and reads it and then he does his homework. I browsed amazon to find more books in this series and came across a harsh review that just couldn't digest the fly....oops....I mean that just couldn't digest the fact that fly can be a pet too. I myself had been biased initially but after reading the book (and having had a similar experience in life), I felt how mighty is the human brain that can conjure up things inconceivable and unacceptable to a common mind. And how open a child's mind is. I also googled up to find some literary stuff on a fly, and SURPRISE!!!!!.....WILLIAM BLAKE.....THE FLY......!!!

Little Fly/ Thy summer's play,

My thoughtless hand/ Has brush'd away.

Am not I/ A fly like thee?

Or art not thou/ A man like me?

What better way could a fragile fly be immortalized than this.....

Needless to say, our friend fly has gone places. From noses and soups to garbage bins and Fly Guy's pocket and from the corner of the windowsill to the literary gaze of a great poet, the fly flies and amuses.



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