दो कमरों का घर

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सब कहते हैं बड़ा मकान खरीद लो 
कब तक किराया भरोगे 
दो कमरे छोटे नहीं लगते क्या तुम्हे ?
बच्चों को भी जगह चाहिए। ... 
नया घर होगा, नई खुशियां आएंगी 
मैं सोच में पड़ जाती हूँ 

ये दो कमरों का मकान 
घर ही तो है 
मानती हूँ दीवारें थोड़ी पुरानी हो गयी हैं 
पर वो जो लकीरें तुम्हे चुभ रही हैं 
वो मेरे बच्चों की पहली लिखाई हैं 
वो पहली तस्वीरें, जो किताब में होतीं तो मैं संभाल भी लेती 
हर जगह ले जाती 
पर दीवारें नहीं उठा सकती 
सोचती हूँ कुछ पल और जी लूँ उन्हें 
धुंधली हो जाएंगी अपने आप जब 
तब नया घर ले लूंगी। 

तुम कहते हो जगह चाहिए 
शायद देखा नहीं तुमने 
साथ बैठे कितने अभिन्न हो जाते हैं हम यहां 
साँसों का संगीत तक सुनाई देता है..... 
थोड़ा रुको 
जब कदम बढ़ेंगे महत्वाकांक्षाओं के साथ 
अपनी जगह भी खुद बना लेंगे 
तब तक जी लेने दो यह करीबी 
हर किसी को नसीब नहीं होती 

दो कमरों का मकान है 
यादों से सजा 
भावनाओं से भरा 
थोड़ा बिखरा सही 
थोड़ा मैला सही 
पर खुशियां भी सजी यहीं हैं 
आंसू भी थमे यहीं हैं 
तुम्हारे लिए ईंट और पत्थर की तंग दीवारें हैं 
पर मेरे लिए यही घर है 
मेरे दो कमरों का मकान। .... 

Linking to #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

Let the Light Shine Bright This Year

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This New Year,  I came across two brilliant posts on word of the year as blogger - one by Shailaja and the other by Alana, I wondered whether I should have one too. And if yes, what would that word be? Three words kept holding my attention - Joy, Promise and Light. I could not in any way decide on one and let go of the other. Then, help arrived. In the form of a sign. A surprise so unexpected that it filled me with joy and showed me the promise of future. A promise that lay in the endeavors I would make if I remained true to myself. The surprise was a book I received through the Costco Connection Book Giveaway wherein Costco members can enter for a chance to win a signed copy of the book of the month. Since I had entered so many times with no luck, I had quite forgotten about it. But last night, when I checked the mail box, a white bubble wrapped package awaited picking. Still having no clue as to which book I had got, I opened the package and what did I see - Anthony Doerr's All The Light We Cannot See......

The book was on my wish-list for a long time but because it was in such high-demand, it was forever off the library's book-shelf. I could not believe my luck as I stared at the book, smiling like a child who had found a lost toy. 

And, if you have guessed it by now, the word of the year for me was decided. It would be - Light.

I remember a story I had read a long time ago. A master had to run some errands so he asked his disciple to take charge of his house. The only task the disciple had to do in his master's absence was to keep darkness out of the house. The master left. As the day descended, darkness started creeping in. The disciple was clueless. In his ignorance, he started beating around with a broom, thinking that would be enough to keep the darkness out. By the time the master returned, the disciple was exhausted and the house was dark. The master lit a candle which radiated the surroundings. 

What does the story tell us? 

The disciple focused on the darkness while the master brought out the light. 

Shifting the perspective towards one positive thing helped negate the gloominess of the house. 

We mortals have our flaws. We suffer from jealousy, anger, bias, ego and what not. All this blinds us. Our hearts close. Our eyes are shut. We forget what it means to be receptive, or loving or caring. We fail to see the light. It is not possible that we will not make any mistakes. We will. But when we fail to rectify the wrongs that we have done, we fail to see the light. We choose to be blinded. 

This year I will make every effort to see the light and be guided by it. 

This year I want to see What Else is Possible? A beautiful thought that stays with me from the past year. I borrow it from Andrea Davis Pinkney's The Red Pencil, a stirring portrayal of the genocide in Darfur, as seen from the eyes of a twelve-year old girl, Amira. Since I cannot do complete justice to the beauty of this thought, I am including the bit where it appears in the book:

Will you too, dear friends, see the light this year?

Will you too try to find out what else is possible? Will you too be guided by the light within and without to open the closed doors of your hearts?  

Linking it to Alphabet Salad Word of the Year Linkup - 2017 and #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

Brick Wall that disappeared......

When I was little, I used to have a dream. It was recurrent. In the dream, I would be walking on an unknown path and in front of me stood a red brick wall. It was shaded with beautiful trees. It would beckon me with its mysterious beauty. I would try to reach it but before I could cover the entire distance between me and the wall, the dream would end, and I would wake up. I don't remember when I stopped having this dream. I did not discuss it with anyone since I believed that if I do that, I would stop having the dream. It was as if I wanted to face that wall in its alluring charm again and again and again. 

I never tried to read into the dream too. My dad had a book about dreams and their meanings which I would stealthily read every time I had some weird dream. But for this one, I did not want to. I wanted no interpretation of that path I was taking, of that wall that seemed to stand in between, and the color red. Now, after all these years, I could interpret it in many ways. Perhaps, my dreamy heart wanted to venture into the unknown horizon and live the adventures it had to offer. Perhaps, the wall stood for the many hurdles I would face in my journey which I would have to overcome. Perhaps the color red signified danger or rashness or aggression or passion. 

The path never appeared  uninviting. I never sensed an unease during or after the dream. I wanted that brick wall to appear right in front of my eyes so that I could cross it and see what lay on the other side.

I never met that brick wall. Or may be I didn't seek hard enough. In some shady nook, in some fanciful corner, it might still exist, waiting for me to reach it, touch it, cross it. 

तुम्हे शिकायत है कि राह में दीवारें बहुत हैं 

मुझे दुःख  इस बात कि चलने की कोशिश ही न की 

(You crib that there are many walls in the way

I regret that I never tried to walk....)

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Linking to #MondayMusings on Everyday Gyaan

Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale

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Last night, I finished reading Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale. After I put down the novel, I wondered what it was that glued me to war novels so much. What was it that made me want to read and re-read novels that talked of pain and misery and atrocity and injustice and what not? It wasn't that the pain I lived through with the characters made me happy. Then, what was it? In Hannah's novel, I seemed to find the answer - 

Love.
It was the beginning and end of everything, the foundation and the ceiling and the air in between. It didn't matter that she was broken and ugly and sick. He loved her and she loved him. All her life she had waited - longed for - people to love her, but now she saw what really mattered. She had known love, been blessed by it. (The Nightingale, P-428)

The Nightingale is a novel not just about war. It is also about two sisters, Isabelle and Vianne, trying to find peace, trying to stitch back their lives together - lives that have been ripped apart by the monstrosity of hostility. It is a tale that affirms life. It is a saga that testifies to the values we stand by - values which exist on both sides. 

 Isabelle and Vianne are different personalities. The way they respond to situations reflect their demeanor. It is also a cause of misunderstanding between the two. Isabelle seems too volatile to Vianne, and Vianne is too lukewarm for Isabelle. It is the war that brings out a different side of each of them.  Dire times test them in excruciating ways. One longs for love, the other for peace. They both 'participate' in the war in different ways - one by helping save the Allied soldiers, and the other by rescuing the Jewish children. For them, war is a reality they live with every single day. As Vianne rightly says, "We did what we had to during the war, and when it was over, we picked up the pieces and started our lives over." Women suffer the loss of friends, of family, of dignity and respect.  They 'wait' for all of this to get over so that they can start afresh. Vianne wonders whether she should forget everything, as if it was possible. But Antoine, her husband, reminds her that it is only in "remembering" that they will be able to renew life. 

Hannah explores the grounds of morality on which we judge people and ourselves through the characters of Herr Beck and Vianne. When the 'good' captain billets at Vianne's house, what begins is a shaky interrogation of what constitutes 'right' and 'wrong'. Everything is not black and white. Even the meting out of justice, as becomes evident with Beck's departure and Herr Richter's arrival. Who do we kill, and why? Who do we let live, and why? The book seeks to elicit a response from the reader.

In the end is the beginning. I will not reveal what,since I do not want to spoil it for those who have not read the book. But the beginning rests on the edifice of pain and loss and suffering. It seems to tell you to live, to love, to smile while you have time. It seems to tell you to remember too since forgetting is not the right way. In remembering, we realize what matters truly. The Nightingale will always sing a song where ever there is love. 

There are a few lines that have etched in my mind permanently. I do not know why. They keep coming back to me. They may not affect you the way they did me but still I will share them here as I end this post.

She was the first woman to queue up outside the shop this morning, and because of that, she got her full ration of butter. One hundred grams for the month. Two-thirds of a cup.
A treasure. (P- 105)


Linking to #MondayMusings on Everyday Gyaan

A Teacher for Life.....

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Lessons learnt by rod

The little child forgets - all

that remains is pain.....

Linking to Haiku Horizons - Forget

A child is like a flower. Treat it with a gentle touch, caress the buds, nourish the soil and you find the flower blooming beautifully one day. But neglect it, abuse it, starve it and it is sure to die. So is the heart of the little child which beats and flutters delightfully at the slight sight of affection. But harsh words wither the heart away. Joy flees, innocence takes refuge in some remote world and all that remains is bitterness and pain.

I am reminded of the words of Alexander the Great who said, " I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well." Teacher is the lighthouse in the life of a child who is growing up. The light guides the exploring ship on rocky paths, warning just in time of dangers lurking ahead, and yet letting him go on on his journey. Imagine if the lighthouse blocked the way of the ship and stopped it from moving forward. What would happen then? The ship would be trapped and might drown. 

The role of the caregiver, parent or teacher becomes very crucial in upbringing the child. If the person in charge of taking care of the child is not equipped with the primary quality of kindness, then the future of that child is sure doomed. Without a loving heart and a tolerant mind, the teacher can never instill good qualities in the child, primarily because, the teacher himself is devoid of them. Good guidance includes sensitivity for the other mind. Good mentoring incorporates acceptance of faults and flaws, and their rectification without judgement. Where the mind starts judging, compassion flies away and what is left is bias.

So if you are a teacher, teach with love. Sit next to a child who can not hold the pencil properly. Rebuke him not, but gently hold his hand and let him write. Let him write that he is the best. If he finds it difficult to read, or does not understand the words on the page, feed his imagination. Let him dream, spark up a scene for him and fly away with him to his fantasy world where he will find words to express his feelings, and discover new joys. Let him find pride for himself. Let him feel worthy of what he is, of who he is. Judge not by the flaws. Judge not at all. Praise the goodness in him. For you might not be with him for long but your words will travel with him way longer than you might have imagined. 

Linking it to #Monday Musings on WriteTribe

Good Thoughts Lead to Good Deeds....

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When I was little, my grandpa always used to ask me to read newspapers. Every morning, reading the newspaper with the morning tea, was like a ritual. He would point out interesting things from history and would even pinpoint the mistakes, if the newspaper writer had made. Then he would write a letter to the editor to make corrections. This habit of his was passed on to my mom and from my mom to me. My mom would insist during my college days, to read the editorial column as the language written would help me improve my vocabulary and style of writing.

Speaking of the editorial column, I remember sifting through the newspaper to read the 'Thought for the Day' and contemplate on the topic or the thought it generated. It was a great mental exercise. These days, I have always liked the small articles on spirituality like those by The Speaking Tree. Some newspapers have also vowed to make one day a No Negative News Day and on that day, the issue that comes out is filled with positive, promising news. The articles that are included in such editions help the reader think more constructively and develop a habit of appreciation for all that is good in society.

This notion of avoiding negativity and dwelling more on the inspirational matter is something very interesting. In an age where we see lot of social evils, when we stop and focus on the admirable aspects of the same society, our mind starts to function differently encouraging us to become better in many ways. When a desire to become better enters an individual mind, it helps create an aura of wonder, gratitude and excellence that like ripples in an ocean, creates a long-lasting effect on those around that person. It is just like when we smile, the other person will reciprocate in a similar fashion.

For the society's betterment, I strongly feel, that snippets of spiritual wisdom ought to become the first page of every newspaper column. Short stories that teach by example help the reader make connections and question the prejudices s/he may have harbored. I also feel that these snippets need not be religion-based. They can be stories from great personalities of any faith. The prime aim ought to be to teach some basic ethical values.

What do you feel, my friends? Do you have any story or wisdom to share here?

I remember reading a short story in the Speaking Tree column where a student tries to fight the darkness in his hut by attempting to shoo it away with a broom. When his teacher sees him doing that, he tells the student that in order to dispel darkness, you need to light up the room. The message is so simple, and yet so deep. When we illumine our inner sanctum, the outside gets lit up with bright, positive thoughts too. And good thoughts lead to good deeds. Isn't it?

Do share your thoughts too. Thanks!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Also linking it to #MondayMusings on Write Tribe. 

Wise Old Words.....

Underneath the happy countenance is a sea of wisdom that sprang from a life lived to the hilt.....
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Advice comes in a variety of ways, from a variety of people. Sometimes solicited, sometimes unwarranted, it can make or spoil one's day. But good advice stays for long, and sometimes for good. Coleridge, the famous English poet has rightly put it words:

"Advice is like snow - the slower it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into the mind."

Words of wisdom are like the foundation of a good building. The edifice cannot be strong without a good base, and wise words act like a sturdy support and prevent it from falling to pieces. We all have had our share of good as well as bad guidance. I am going to share here three chance meetings with complete strangers. The conversations almost always ended with a message, just like it happens in short stories with morals. All conversations revolve around children, and in all three instances, the people I met were probably grandparents in their lives.

1) On on my walk back from my son's preschool, I chanced upon an old couple. The lady was blind. The gentleman had gone looking for their's doctor's address. The lady was feeling scared and I remember making her sit comfortably on a bench nearby as we waiting for her husband to arrive. When the husband came, he was all ears to my son and his friend. He watched the two kids running around and told me in brief his own story of becoming a parent. The couple had been unfortunate for having lost many of their kids before birth and only one daughter, their loving daughter, had survived. The gentleman told me to observe and celebrate each day of my child's growing up. He said, "Give them all your love, for they grow up really fast." The words touched my heart as I thought of the moments the couple might have spent on her daughter and their unborn children. I thought about my own parents who had given me such a good life. And I looked at own son running around, growing up. He was born only yesterday and here I was taking him to preschool. As I write this, I realize that he is in big school now and has a sister who is two. Time really flies and they do grow up fast! 

2) Another trip to the park to let my little one expend her energies. As she tries to overcome her fear of swings, an uncle who has come with his grandson observes us. He notices that I am talking in my native language although I am in a foreign land. He starts talking and we discuss a few things. He talks about his own country and mine. He talks about America, about the safety women enjoy here, about the integrity of people living here. Then we talk about education, about culture and about our language. The discussion leads us to a point where I say that learning your mother tongue is important. And then uncle says, Yes you are right. Mother tongue is like our root. It tells us where we came from.' And those words stuck to me. Although I had not given much thought to it before, I realized that learning one's language was the beginning of an understanding of one's culture. It was the first step towards attaining consciousness regarding one's identity.

3) A trip to Walmart with my son who happened to be in a sulky mood and with my daughter who was whining for a bike. My husband was at the check-out counter. A gentleman came and said hello to my son who responded in not much of a proper way. I ignored. The gentleman asked my son how many toys he bought today to which my son replied, "None." "Oh, that's great. Do you know how many toys I had when I was your age? I had just a cardboard and a pencil. It was my spaceship, my pirate ship, my rocket, my boat, my castle my house, my everything. And I played with my imagination....." As my son stood dumbstruck at the thought of not having a toy, the gentleman went on to explain how things were different in his times and how this cardboard and his imagination helped him develop love for rockets. Even today, he told us, he belonged to a club where they made rocket models. The words that he spoke still echo in my mind - A cardboard box and a pencil and lots of imagination - that is what they should play with. I remembered Einstein's words "Logic will take you from a to b, imagination will take you anywhere.'

Being a mother of two, I cannot just forget these lovely reflections by complete strangers. They were all people touching the twilight years of their life. And they shared with me something that would help me steer my way through the journey of motherhood with love and care. Upbringing is a huge uphill task that weighs heavily on a parent's mind. It is not just the right education, but also the right conduct of life that we ought to teach our children everyday. What the three gentlemen shared with me were ruminations that would guide me in many ways as I bring up my kids.

“I am participating in the #SachchiAdvice Contest by MaxLife in Association with BlogAdda.”
Also linking it with #Monday Musings on WriteTribe