Giving Wings To Dreams

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...

Our beautiful planet Earth, when created by the Almighty, was free from any dividing lines that segregated one place from another. There were, for sure, different landscapes which were perhaps meant to beautify, to add variety to the scenery. There weren’t any boundaries or borders to divide one nation from another. All creatures ruled the planet. But the best creation of God, i.e. we the humans, with the exclusive power of rationalizing, made divisions, created boundaries, built fortresses, and set chasms of differences. In spite of that, the flow of masses from one region to another, one state to another, one country or continent to another, continued for multiple reasons—sometimes for safety, better health facilities, and sometimes for better prospects. This trend especially encouraged the youth of developing nations to leap towards the developed ones. This migration, be it from a village to a town or city, inter-state, or from one country to another, isn’t easy. It’s akin to uproot...

A puppet has no say A soulless object Which's not supposed to ever have its way, And is often manipulated as a puppeteer's project. It has to move and dance strictly on the lines drawn by the hand that holds it. Hands might change, Puppet's destiny still stays the same, She is no better than a game. A toy, an entertainment as long as spectators feel cheery. If once by some external force a string of its gets torn, Puppeteer feels it's just a liability better not to be borne. In a far-off niche or an attic it's ruthlessly flung or savagely thrown, Since it's of no more use to the hand it had previously adorned. The world has no use for the one that has loose strings. The puppet is for sure doomed like a bird with a broken wing, Which can't anymore fly towards the blue sky. Little did the puppeteer realize that it was either his harsh pull or rough try That puppet can't anymore comply. Grace be to God, Who endowed the puppeteer with the knack to sew and de...

The moment anyone reads the phrase "domestic violence," an automated image is generated in the subconscious mind—an image of a man unabashedly using his masculine prowess on his better half, the delicate one in the couple. But though that is the reality for a large chunk of the population, it is only a restricted view. The broader aspect involves unscrupulous violence against the older generation. Every other day, on social networking sites and in newspapers circulated across the nation, I would come across many such horrendous incidents. But somehow, the impact never lingered—until an akin incident occurred with one of my close acquaintances. A routine talk with my almost 74-years-old mother took an unexpected turn the day before yesterday. I had dialed her number three to four times, but it was engaged. When she was finally available, she called me back. She said, “I was on call with your late father’s best friend’s widow.” My father and uncle were childhood friends who had...

Mathematics of relationships has jostled, jerked, pissed and pushed, dragged and drowned human races. There's as such no absolute recipe that can help you bake or cook the signature dish of healthy relationships. Even the chef's special needs addition and subtraction. House speciality needs some wise multiplication and division. There's mostly an imbalance. At times salt is more, At another sugar is less. If by chance the chef manages to deal well with both the key ingredients, Still chances are he might fail, Since the customer's favorite might be just sour and umami. The garden of relationships is thus difficult to tend. Calculations of a seasoned gardener might also fail. A little less attention to details, A little more liberal hand at fertilizers and pesticides, Can contaminate soil, water and turf, And ultimately might head the dearly planned entire crop of his on the decay's trail. A beautiful blend of passion and patience is a seedsman's strongest tool, ...

Inertia, siesta, sleep or slumber Regardless of how you might be addressed, May I ask humbly—what’s the motive or purpose of you? You mostly befall when you aren't needed. Your arrival is tempestuous and causes havoc, Especially when the soul is in communion with its one and only mate, Who is brighter than the Pole Star And as stubborn as the Northern Star, Which can't wait For the soul to wake up. Aren’t your forty winks supposed to delay When the poor soul wishes to walk on heart's ecstatic way? But the soul isn't strong—it can't help being lost in your Morpheus arms. Acknowledgement to the fact that you are the biggest bliss, That's auto-generated in childhood and youth alike. And you are considered no less than a blessing For the tired beings struggling in middle age to run the 24/7 mill. Whereas for the old and senile, you are a far-fetched, long-lost dream, Who have to often drug themselves to be on your cherished lap. To some, you are r...

Authority doesn't mean barging into someone's personal workspace, Showing airs, carrying a stern face. Authority doesn't give liberty to anyone to be rude at daybreak, Forgetting all manners of wishing and greeting, Yet still expecting others to smile and bow before you. Don't deem it essential that everyone will obey the rule of harshness. Let others have their way. While you may be a believer and worshipper of strict ways, Others might know how to work in a friendly and sweet way— Especially while dealing with tender hearts who might at times go astray, And may have weird ways, They may also have adamant sways, But to someone, they are the most precious assets and jewels. Once in a while, a few flaws can be overlooked, Once in a while, a dish of guiding discourse for them without chilli can be cooked. Authority must have humility, Politeness and equality. If you are out to reform and reset, the focus shouldn't be a sole niche or a corner. Let your light spread far...

Someone had rightly said that life is a journey. Through different stages of life, one has to traverse—and mostly, it is a journey where one has to be all by himself or herself. Metaphorically correct. Now let's talk about it literally. Traveling, like most of us love, I also adore. During the 47 years of my life, I have traveled mostly from Haryana—the state known for the White Revolution—to Himachal, the state where Gods reside. It's not that I have commuted between these two states only. I am fortunate enough to have visited at least half of the states of our beautiful nation, India. But mostly, it was a journey by road. A couple of times, it was by train as well, but the number of train journeys that I have undertaken so far can easily be counted—around a dozen or so. And every time, there was a memorable experience. But today, it's not the journey by road or train that I intend to mention. It is the journey by air, which was once considered royal and very dignified....