For Yasmin July 2, 2009

You are the glint in the eye,

You are the hint of a smile,

You are Desire; deeply felt and

hidden in the heart’s nooks.

You are my dream in disguise,

You are the walk in the rain,

You are Beauty; locked and captured

in the depths of my eyes.

You are the birth of a soul,

You are the kite in the breeze,

You are Wisdom; flying free

On a rainbow-hued cloud.

desire, beauty,wisdom-

is my heart ready to welcome you, my little one?

:) March 29, 2007

The kind of things children say!

In a reading class, from a 6 year old: Ma’am, my body is here, but my mind is playing baseball.. Can I take my body along with my mind?

A contribution by a 7 year old to the school magazine : A good teacher must be plump and pretty and never get angry.

A 9 year old to a teacher: Ma’am, you look so pretty today that any man would fall for you!

A 5 year old looking at a broken pipe and water gushing out: Will we all drown? Can I swim home through this right now, because what will my parents do if I drown?

A 6 year old after reading the story “Jack and the Beanstalk” : I don’t like Jack. He’s not hardworking at all!

An 8 year old in his essay on Nutrition: We must not eat junk food like samosas and fries because they are tasty.

Fuelled. January 25, 2007

Fuelled by a million man made wings of fire,
the rocket tore through the sky,
and everyone cheered.

Fuelled only by the thought from God,
the tiny seedling urged its way
through the thickness of black,
and as it pierced the heavy ceiling of the soil,
and launched itself into outer space

no

one

even

clapped.

This was a poem in my third standard Gulmohar English Reader. I remember being awed by it, especially the last few lines. I even remember a question based on this poem, “Why do you think the last sentence is broken up into one word per line? What does the poet want to convey?”. Lines from this poem used to often run in my mind, but I could never find the entire poem. I was really happy to find it today, aimlessly googling. The author is unknown..I wish I could see him/her and give my thanks for this sensitive piece of poetry. This poem is as touching to me today as it was then.

Contentment.. January 4, 2007

I sit next to her on the bus everyday. She likes to save a place for me. I get into the bus now; settle down into the window seat. She shows me her file, the card she made in art class and the invite to a birthday party. I look at them all, smile at her and say it is all wonderful. Especially the card. She is not vibrant like the other kids. She is boisterous and rude. She does not like to smile. But she guffaws like a crazy donkey when she sees something funny. Sometimes, she reminds me of myself.

The bus scurries along. I hug my bag close to my chest, and sink deeper into the seat. She is looking straight ahead, frowning in thought. She is all of six years old. The only time I saw  her smile (a ‘real’ smile, I mean) was when her Dadi and Dada visited her. She was full of life for a couple of days. Then they left, and she was back to her angry self.

I look at her now, browsing through her file for the umpteenth time. Slightly broken, slightly yearning for affection. She will not accept false displays of love, though.

Strong little girl.

Slowly, with the lilting movements of the bus, she dozes off. I am looking out of the window when I feel something soft on my shoulder. It hits my shoulder very softly and moves away. I feel a vague loss until the head comes back to place again.

Against my left arm.

She sleeps, with her head on my arm. She looks so calm and at peace with herself. I let my mind drift. Does her mother hug her enough? Does she tell her she is loved? I take a strange pleasure in having her head against me. The very feel of her wispy hair and the soft cheek-at times on my elbow, at times through the sleeve of my kameez, makes me happy.

Content, in fact.

I do not want the bus ride to end, just so that I can have her sleeping by my side forever.

Soon enough, it was time for her to get off. I gently nudge her awake, give her the file that had dropped to the bus floor, and watch her get down, thumping on the steps.

The next seat seems painfully empty now. My left arm, curiously enough, feels lost.

Tomorrow, maybe, she will doze off again against my side.

I want her to.

I can never have enough of it.

A smile is all I need.. December 28, 2006

What it is that you look for?

I search for a smile that I once had.

How was the smile?

It rose when I shed the most tears.

Where are the tears now?

Gone with that smile.

Why do you want it back?

It was the only thing I had.