Giving Wings To Dreams

Silence is serene. Silence is solace. In several ways, silence saves the savage soul. Silence is static, strong, like sky-kissing mountains circling a sleepy hill town. Silence is somber when it stems from sadness. Silence strives to sleep over sickening strategies. Silence confers the childlike sleep upon the soulful, while it steals the peace of the soulless. Silence smiles and silences all conjectures. For a few, silence is a sweet remedy; for others, silence is a malady. For some, silence is a question impossible to crack. For others, silence is the answer to every crux. For some, silence is a shield. For others, the sharpest knife, the searing scythe. Most times, aparently silence saves bonds. At times, it breaks them into forms unrecognizable. Silence wears the face of a silent sage, yet stands indisputed as  a symbol of untamed rage. Life screams. Death silences. silence is a voice in itself, raising walls too high for unwanted noise to climb. Silence is a misunderstood path...

This is a tribute to one of my dearest friends, whose son yesterday lost his battle with cancer. Words fail me, and I lack the strength even to reach out to her. May no mother ever have to bear such unbearable sorrow. The title of the verse has made me cry, Because the loss of a child is every mother’s greatest fear. A child grows stronger in his mother’s prayers Than first in her womb, and later in this world here. The first cry, first tear, first bruise, and first fall, Each hurts the mother far more than all Her child becomes her breaths,her sky,her sun, Her all reasons to live gathered in one. Even in her sleep, her lips softly pray For her dear ones night and day. All her smiles, all her tears, All her strengths, all her weaknesses and struggles Stem from and exist for her little one. A sneeze, a cough, a trembling tone of her child, Sends through her heart a chill unknown. The care she renders to her tender flowers Outshines the most dexterous gardeners. Newborn, infant, grown, o...

IN MEMORY OF MY BELOVED FATHER WHO LEFT US 23 YEARS BACK ON FEBRUARY 1, 2003 Life hadn’t come full circle, But you had to go. Go on a journey that has only one stop, And that stop was nothing but a full stop. No twists, no flips, No more turnabouts or roundabouts. The lethal wagon had no brakes, and its chauffeur was an expert, never missing the dead end. Once its wheels rattled, no other sound could be deciphered. Don’t you think you boarded that wagon a little early? You were needed by all, Because once you were gone, ascent suddenly transformed into a steep fall, For those who looked towards you whenever they faced a hue and cry. But perhaps the final hour of your life was beyond your power to postpone, Since it was predestined, and you had no choice but to be gone. I wish somehow you could know that The sun still shines bright in the sky, The moon still adorns the firmament every night. The wind blows, The rain falls, Crops grow and Seasons change. Everything moves incessantly. The...

“Leave me alone” is a phrase often flung From our untamed tongues. Age is no bar; At one stage or another, we all tend to crave being alone. But be mindful when wishing to be alone, For there lies a vast sea of difference between solitude and loneliness. On the surface, both may look similar, But a little deeper dive reveals the painful difference. Solitude is chosen, while loneliness is unwanted. Solitude is peaceful, while loneliness is painful. Solitude is fulfilling and energizing, While loneliness is empty and deeply draining. The first is rest for the soul and mind, While the second is distress for both. Solitude brings freedom, while loneliness breeds isolation. So, before you wish to be alone, have a crystal-clear vision. Wish for solitude, for you will feel calm, clear, creative, and connected to yourself. You will need none, even amid a crowd. Loneliness, however, can never be a choice, For it makes you feel orphaned and utterly alone, sometimes even in a crowd. Mark these wo...

Since time immemorial, both men and women have wished, ventured, and craved to look good, better, and sometimes the best. In every nook and corner of the world, whether in a bustling city, a quiet suburb, or a small village, salons and beauty parlours stand as testimony to this universal desire. With each generation, the dependence on such services has grown, shortcuts have become acceptable, and professional grooming has turned into a necessity rather than a luxury. This observation isn’t a conclusion drawn from research; it is born from personal experience with my twenty-one-year-old daughter. Having recently begun to manage her life independently, she is particular about her appearance and outlook. For the past three years, she has been living abroad and returns home every December for a month. During this time, she sweetly wishes to be pampered in every possible way. One such indulgence is getting her hair washed and blow-dried at a salon so that her curtain bangs remai...

My wait has ended; so have I. The season of spring was very short, short and sweet. Before bidding adieu, it left inexhaustible joy for my poor heart. That's how I know my wait has ended; so have I. The autumn that has surrounded is, perhaps, long and everlasting. Leaves of hope in this harsh season are incapable to grow. Rays of optimism during this dark season are unable to pierce the dense clouds of sorrow, stamping on the fact that my wait has ended; so have I. Strength-saturated vitals don't wish to move. The darkness in the eyes is darker than the darkest clouds. The most cherished, the most dearest desire has started to flee, stealing and robbing all the heart's glee. The most pious, the most venerable prayer has begun to fail, killing and crumbling the soul's faith in the goodness of humanity, signaling that my wait has ended; so have I. Wait a minute; can wait really end and halt? Can the soul rest in peace if life made it bitterly howl? At times it's no on...

Fiddling, fidgeting with, far-flung terrains; Mountains, plateaus and plains. Sometimes in fun, sometimes ferociously, Forever favourite of his own. Faltering man, foolishly crowned himself the greatest masterpiece By the Creator of all, Forwarded his fateful feet On far-flung, majestically spreading sand dunes. Gritty, coarse, fine, powdery, loose and grainy stuff Caught his greedy, selfish eye. Meddled with almost whatever pristine nature has to cater; Be it tall, sturdy, tall trees in the darkest woods, Clear, crystal water of untamed, undefiled rivers in ravines Or flowing down stout, sky-kissing mountain heights, Rocks or stones spread on earth's even, untouched expanses. Now walking on the powdered brown sugar, His mind was racing How to put a blanket of that brown candy floss to use, Since use and throw was the only policy he knew. Curiosity in him grew, Creativity in him being innate. He sat pondering on golden, shimmering, uniform sand, When he heard a sage pass by, Asking...

  The title of this write-up may make no sense and might seem whimsical to some. Yet, I couldn't think of any other, though I did try to run the horses of my mind for hours to replace it with a better one. Anyhow, its content, I hope, is worth reading. This may sound contrary to me,a language teacher who always guided  pupils to choose eye-catching and gripping titles for their work. Yesterday, a phone call from my twenty-one-year-old daughter led to a discussion  about the parents’ rights over children. I, being a mother, feel that a mother—being the carrier of her baby in the womb for nine long months and then bringing the baby into this world with unimaginable pain has rights to advocate. I told her about how difficult it is for a mother to stay away from her children, especially toddlers. I shared with her the hardest choice I had to make when she was just one and a half years old and my elder child was  three. It was one of the toughest years of my marriage....

September 5 fills every teacher's heart with pride, Designation doesn't count be it NTT, PRT, TGT, or PGT.  Fifth day of the vibrant ninth month resonates in every educator's heart, Since it's the day when society acknowledges their relentless hard work and part, Part that they play in carving beautiful, sensitive and progressive minds and hearts. It's the day to celebrate their worth, The atmosphere in every temple of education is full of glee and mirth. The day glorious and golden September dawns, Preparation by the teaching fraternity is tirelessly on. New attires, new hopes for a winsome delight, That every educational institute never fails to provide. To make it special for the ones who are born to guide.  Alas! I never gave thought that once, how eagerly, for this day I would also wait. For almost two decades I was a teacher, One who always kept her spirits high. Little did I realize that this year onwards, this day would be pined for as one of the most specia...