How Many Times?

[Poetry]

The gentle rays of the morning sun glistens at my window,
Washing in its light the stretch of grey ahead of me,
I tilt my head up to bask in its warmth,
And in the otherwise dull monotony that my life is,
I realize it’s a beautiful new day!
A thousand times I’ve sat in the same place,
While I’ve travelled along these endless roads,
Yet not once have I noticed the things that pass me by,
Not once have I drowned myself in the buzz around,
Not once has my gaze changed from its blank.

The salt in my hair speaks of the decades I’ve lived,
I’ve played all my roles ever so earnestly,
Forever striving in my endeavour to make ends meet.
Merely coursing through long weekdays and their brisk ends,
With a hope to live my dreams someday, when all else takes a back seat!
A question suddenly arises on this one beautiful day!
Its unspoken answer creating a turmoil deep within,
Exposing me to the bitter reality of the life I’ve lived,
Rocking the calm surface on which I’ve established myself,
Threatening to jeopardize everything I’ve done and been.

Is this life? The endless days summing up into nothing?
The treacherous silence of its humdrum deafening my ears?
The zest to explore buried and bygone?
How far behind have I left that part of me?
The part that got captivated by all things- unique and ordinary!
The part that found joy in the guileless.
The part that smiled at the warm and the taciturn alike.
The part that made dreary lore come alive.
Am I really living or am I only breathing?
A faint discomfort grips my soul and urges me to wonder…

How many times have I soaked in the splendours of nature on us bestowed?
How many times have I stopped by to watch the gorgeous river flow?
How many times have I counted the stars in the evening sky?
How many times have I stopped by to watch a kite fly high?
How many times have I admired a flower bloom in spring?
How many times have I stopped by to dance and sing?
How many times have I told my mother that I love her so?
How many times have I stopped by to watch my children grow?
Just how many times in the changing of seasons have I come alive?
How many times in the years gone by have I lived life?

~~~🕸🕸🕸~~~

P.S: My husband took this photograph of the gentleman in a train in Germany. The expression on his face inspired me to write this piece.

~~~🕸🕸🕸~~~

This blog post is a part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with RRE Studios and ShowCase Events

And The Banner Gaily Floats…

One Wet, Rainy, Gloomy Friday Morning

The loud sound of the thunder accompanied by the sound of the rains lashing the rooftop momentarily startles the four girls and pauses their conversation. As they start talking again, their chattering is hushed by the sound of footsteps approaching. They look at each other in disbelief as no one should have been there at that time. They are a little alarmed and also fearful of getting caught. They peek through to get a glimpse of the intruder and instantly realize who he is.

Sir Rai enters IX C for his Chemistry class with some exercise books and some chalks in his hand. Dressed in formals in shades of brown, his thick rimmed black spectacles perched on his nose and his signature ‘topi’ on his head, he walks in. Now, there was something eccentric about Sir Rai. In all the years that he taught us, we never saw his mood change. In anger, frustration, happiness, in sun, rain, snow, he remained his calm self. I think I remember him smile just once. His disposition and his topi had that in common. ‘Sthir’ would be the right word to describe both… they never faltered! Sometimes we wondered if he glued it to his head. One of our silly wishes was to remove it and expose the secret… hehe! But, he was an excellent teacher!

The classroom is empty as the girls are in church attending the compulsory Friday mass. It is huge, half filled with desks to accommodate its 37 students and half with their umbrellas that have been left open to dry at the back of the class.

As he sits at the teacher’s desk and settles in to check the homeworks, little does he know that under the umbrellas at the back are four girls who with the motive of bunking mass are hiding there, hoping that when all leave, they will get out. I am one of them!😛 My elder sister Anupama, who was in the same class as I, the other, and two of our friends, one I remember was Yangchen but the other I don’t.

The mass used to take up the first period and chemistry was the second. How could we have known that he would turn up so early? The thought of staying crouched under the umbrellas for one whole period(40minutes) rendered us despondent.

We looked at each other, worried even to let a sigh out of our mouths as the rain had stopped momentarily and the slightest sound would alert him and we would be in big trouble. Sir Rai’s eyesight wasn’t that good but his ears compensated for that shortcoming. The fear of getting reprimanded by our Principal plus that of embarrassment facing our peers made us immobile. Our bodies hurt and felt numb in certain parts due to the crouching. How I wish we were taught yoga in those days, we would have been better able to curl up. Looking at our sorry states, a giggle almost escaped my mouth. I did everything to keep it suppressed.

If we had had to stay that way for another minute, we all would have given up… I swear! Imagine our plight, I really don’t know how we held up for over 30 minutes. Thankfully, the mass ended early and the girls started entering the class. I used to think it was weird that our class had the door at the back, but that day I was more than thankful that it did as we just amalgamated in the flow of the girls entering the class and went to our respective desks.

Phew! A narrow escape!

And thus, with our hearts beating rapidly, embarrassment tinging our cheeks red and with sly, sheepish grins on our faces, we sat for our Chemistry class, pretending as if nothing had happened… one wet, rainy, gloomy Friday morning!

~~~🍁🍁🍁~~~

I went to a Convent, Loreto Convent, Darjeeling. Our school was run by Irish nuns(the last of the missionaries); stern, strict ones as well as warm and mellow ones. A lot of what I am today is because of the 11 years of my life that I spent there. Much of my personality is shaped by what I learnt from my teachers and my experiences as well.

Pic courtesy: Deepak Rasaily

There are many pleasant memories of my school life that I fondly recollect at times. I will be sharing them in this series titled, ‘And the Banner Gaily Floats.’ If you are wondering how the title came about, the answer is in the chorus of our anthem. I guess every Loreto girl, present and alumni alike, in a small way or big, either consciously or not, embodies the school anthem throughout her life.

Leaving you with a section of our much revered anthem and my rendition of the same:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1XmvPCmDN2DCV122jNH9c4Xv8MHcOX_bd/view?usp=drivesdk

‘And when our school days ended are and our varied paths divide,
O may the ideals of our youth still ever be our guide.
High ideals of purity, of duty and of truth,
Learnt while we bore Loreto’s flag in the sunny days of youth.

Loreto’s banner gaily floats,
In lands both East and West,
Loreto’s name each girl reveres,
And holds it ever blest.’

~~~🍁🍁🍁~~~

This blog post is a part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with RRE Studios and ShowCase Events

Isn’t it Ironic?

[Poetry]

From dawn till night she runs her show,
With not a second to spare or bask,
Ten hands of the Goddess on her bestowed,
It’s no wonder she can multitask!

Art by Ahana Bhat(my daughter’s BFF😊)

No HR to calm those nerves on edge,
No coach to train or mentor,
No gossip with friends on coffee breaks,
After all, she’s an individual contributor!

She doesn’t get those weekends off,
Nor holidays, come rain or fall.
While even in deep slumber sometimes,
She wakes up to attend to a call!

Her resume looks way too complex,
For she has innumerable roles to play,
She’s all in one and one for all,
Every single day!

But for all the crazy work she does,
No perk ever comes her way.
No bonus on New Year or Diwali any,
Not even a decent salary!

To a few, she ‘doesn’t earn,’
She ‘sits at home all day’ for some,
‘Does nothing!’ she’s told on her face,
And to many, she’s ‘just a mom!’

‘A working mother,’ she’d rather be called,
‘Homemaker’ is a better word,
Because her job brings no money back,
Does that mean she doesn’t work?

~~~🌸💮🌸💮🌸~~~

I wrote this poem to shut the mouths of some people(strangely more women😛). Chose it for this week as my contribution to celebrate the spirit of womanhood.

Happy Women’s Day! 💖
More power to each one of us!💪

This blog post is a part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with RRE Studios and ShowCase Events