Tag: indiblogger contest

Becoming Nature’s Friend…

On March 22, 2014

I held his hands as we walked across the field towards the trees inside, moving his firm old hands in systematic swings and singing the rhyme out loud as he requested. Passing across the long grasses and occasionally kicking them midway, we went on. Giving me a firm eye whenever he noticed me doing that to the “poor grasses”, Dada and I went ahead only for me to scream out in surprise at the berries hanging down the trees. I left his loosely clenched hands and ran towards the tree.

As I jumped to catch the berries, I realized that I just could not catch hold of even one of them. Making a face that exactly resembled that of the present-day “sad-smiley” and looking at him, Dada approached me with a big grin on his face. He just brushed up my hair, “buddhu kahin ka”, and just did the same to the tree by lightly shaking one of its branches.

All of a sudden, just like some magic, the berries just fell all over me. Some even hit me, right on my head. Suddenly the sad face of mine, gave way to a big grin, more than what dada had on his face. His face, as I can recall, had a content-filled smile spread all over it. In a way, he found joy in making me feel happy.

Just when I had collected almost all the berries and having eaten some of it, while collecting, I asked for more. Who knows, when will I get an opportunity like this again??

Then one very important thing is what Dada told me. He told me not to rush, it is enough for the day, explaining to me how we should not take away everything that the tree has to offer us, and just wait for it to be ready to give it to us. Although I wouldn’t say I understood all of what he said that day, in retrospection, I did most of it anyway.

Especially when teachers taught us how even plants are living things and how beneficial they are for our survival. Also looking at it, the buzzword of sustainable development, which we now hear so often, we have been exploiting the nature and overusing the resources that are given to us as a gift by the Almighty is what we have been doing, but is something which we should have been very careful about in the first place.

That same day, when walking back, instead of kicking away the long grasses, I just looked at them as to notice what are they going to offer to me later. Meanwhile, I was again back to swinging away from my Dada’s hand like before, carrying a bag of berries in my other hand and singing away the rhyme like before.

This post was written in association with Indiblogger for Kissan contest on #NaturesFriend.

Taking care of Children..

By farooq

On November 19, 2013

In Fiction & Poetry

“Get up beta..It’s time for school” was what Ravi’s mom kept shouting early morning. I could hear the pitch fluctuate as the minutes passed by. I couldn’t see him getting ready for his day to school (not that I wanted to), but could paint a picture around what his mom was telling him to. From making the 10-year old take bath and cajole into using soap, which he doesn’t seem to like or changing the dirty smelling socks from his shoes, which he didn’t took out yesterday after coming back and numerous other things which would make the kid be clean and tidy, and all set for school. Mother’s take such great pains to make their child remain clean. It just throws me back, into my school days.

I was sipping my morning coffee and enjoying the morning chirpings and musings on whatever my eyes could make me watch, or my ears listen. Just before the day for working population starts, the mothers at home get on with their business of getting their kids ready, just before their school bus/auto-rickshaw comes by blazing the horns, with a full pack of kids thrown in like courier to be delivered to the same address.

The horn blazed across the street and kids from our apartment, along with their mothers ran to hop onto the seats. Ravi also dashed down with his mom, looking all excited to see his friend reserve a place for him. It’s all there from the beginning, reserving a place for your friends, no matter where or how you are travelling. Brushing amidst every other kid, Ravi hopped in to go to his “reserved” seat, and from afar as I could noticed just when the bus was about to start, his both the kids were peeping into each others’ lunch box. Perhaps, comparing what all they would exchange during the lunch break. Obviously, in case if it remains intact till that time. Kids, you know.

school bus

“Hello”, said Ravi’s mom, on my adjacent balcony. This was almost like a routine every morning when both of us greeted each other and exchanged our pleasantries. Neighbors you know. Actually, I was new in the apartment, and most of the people in the building were being nice to me. “Hello Bhabi, chala gaya Ravi school?” was what I replied back. Not that I didn’t knew nor had doubt, but just for the sake of conversation, this was what I said. “Yes, he went. Getting him ready for school is a job in itself. He just doesn’t listen to anything I say. To just keep him clean and be healthy, is one of the toughest things I have to do at home, you know.” And she went on. There’s this thing with women, you just have to start off and then they would carry on describing their daily grind.

“And to top it all, there I have to make sure he doesn’t get sick.” She added. “well, the weather is such kids are getting sick Bhabiji “, I sympathized with her. At least tried to.

“Oh yes, indeed. But thankfully, I do take care of him. Actually it’s Chyawanprash that helps him, to fight all that. And the immune system of children isn’t that developed, so we have to take extra care for them. So many bacteria, viruses, etc are there these days, you know”. I knew about the immune system, but the “so many bacteria, viruses” sounded like there’s some shop selling these.

“But which Chyawanprash to choose, there are so many of them in the market. Which is the best one?” was what I was compelled to ask.

“That’s easy, Chyawanprash means Dabur Chywanprash, nothing else. And this one comes especially for kids as well, Ravi ko wahi khilati hoon”

I just wondered as to what all other women must be doing with their kids.

“Achaa chalo, ab Ravi ki papa ke lie breakfast banana hai” and with this our morning conversation ended like any other day. I closed down my gate for a walk and took my wallet, to buy myself Chyawanprash. Not that I was a kid, but then who wants to get sick? So, many Bacteria and viruses roaming around you know.

This post was written in association with Indiblogger for Dabur Chyawanprash

The Platinum Moment…

By farooq

On October 22, 2013

In Fiction & Poetry

“Select all” “Delete” “Select all” “Delete” “Select all” “Delete” and the sequence continues. Sitting on a Sunday morning, with the Saturday night sleep being snoozed every now and then, one can easily judge the mood of Bhaskar, working his way through emptying the mailbox.

After the curtains tried to flow away, and the light tried to sneak in hurriedly through the cores of the unveiled window sills, it is then he decided to just close down the lid of his laptop and lay down besides her. The distance marked by an imaginary line, which didn’t require any army to keep it there, but only what was going in his mind. But he wasn’t alone.

Even Smruti was preoccupied with even stranger thoughts too.

It’s been almost six months since Smruti got married off to Bhaskar. “Married off” might sound some sort of trade, and even though they both consented to tie the knot with all the pomp and splendor associated with it, yet the iota of doubt already piled up could only be sensed by them both only.

Smruti, a cheerful young 24-year old, fairly cute and what they call naazuk, lived life without bothering about worldly affairs in a thickly populated neighborhood in Jayanti colony in saaddi dilli. A mohalle-wala affair, which couldn’t stand the test of time and compatibility, got over recently. With shadi-ki-umar approaching and parents standing on her neck, she had to let go.

Its’ no amusing that the filmi duniya does impact the life of our youth; Smruti’s dreams were all built with that caricature in place and regularly water those illusions too. But then dreams remained dreams. The mohalle-ka-launda went his way, and she had to stay there to weep her days out, before her parents fixed the match to a handsomely earning Engineer in Patna. The salary was handsome, not the engineer though.

Bhaskar, engineering at a mechanical plant in Patna, while his family stayed back in delhi, was eager to get married. Well, for a guy whose quest in life had only focused on tons of books and then machines, needed to finally get, what society says is “Life”. Junk food, and years of being in love with his window-95 through Vista evolved computer had not just increased the power of his lenses but also his weight. No wonder, apart from being called Bhaskar, his middle name or rather his more familiar name centered on the weight he carried around in fats. So, when a proposal for a delhi-girl came along, where he fell in love with just from the .jpg image that came down in his mailbox. She was cute. There was no way, he was willing to let her go.

Eagerness was what Bhaskar germinated, while apprehensions and simply adhering to what her parents say, Smruti waited.

They tied the knot.

Six months later, things haven’t changed much. Each night Bhaskar tries to make sure that he comes in a little late, so that they don’t have to talk much. So that she doesn’t look at him, as how cruel the god can be to tie her up with him. So that he could just avoid feeling miserable again.

It was that first time they met after being married; Her eyes just spelt it out quite clearly to him. Clear enough to know, the disgust and when a little later, described about how the marriage went through only because she couldn’t say NO. The shutters of the newly inaugurated dreamland store of Bhaskar at Patna, just closed down. Each passing day was another exercise to just keep on moving by just ignoring the reality. Living under the same roof, without being together and yet continuing with it. Well, if stats for the same would be known to public, they won’t

Bhaskar went to the plant. Smruti, roamed around the house and with nothing better to do, switched on the TV. Browsing through the channels she saw news flash of a plant in patna which had a major accident, 100s were feared injured and some dead. And just then the phone rang.

She picked up the phone, “Madam.. yahan sir.. madam.. hello .. hello..”

She dropped the phone and ran away to get the taxi, and with it to the plant site dialing Sameer’s mobile number, without getting a reply. Paying up the driver and stormed around the site, searching.

Her eyes, wandering around to look for something.With all the rescue work and people moving around, they all acted as a veil which she was constantly trying to put off. Tears rolling down her cheeks. Eyes still searching for him.

For Bhaskar.

And then she finally caught him. Both of them looking at each other from a sizeable distance, sizeable and yet his size giving her the relief that he’s fine. The distance seemed to have vanished. Limping across through the site, he walked towards her. She walked too. Her eyes looked different. They had finally found it. Their platinum day of love.

This post is written in association with Indiblogger for Platinum day of love Contest.