marking a page...

I fancy bookmarks. I don't really know how i caught upon this habit. Plus, if i've to gift somebody, a bookmark has to go along with the present.

My friends have realised this too. They gift me bookmarks as well. Each random book has one in between it's pages. Whenever i bring down a book to read from a room upstairs, it has to have a bookmark.

Somehow, of late, i've been misplacing them. Blame it on my carelessness. Father uses tightly folded sheets of paper to serve the same purpose. These days, i'm doing the same thing. i don't want to wake up one fine day, to find all my bookmarks gone. Some represent the fun-times that i had with my friends.

When small, i remember making them. Using glitter paper, coloured pens, sticky glue, and coloured thread. It was part of art classes during school. Father, M would help me in the process. Putting their ideas forward.

I opened a book which lay on my table. I just glanced through it. I saw a thick strip of blue and green. With silver sequins decorating it. And some words written in blue glitter. I remember now. I had made it last summer, before i moved to Mysuru.

Two were made on that lazy afternoon, when every other activity seemed boring. My hands got really sticky, and i had a difficult time washing it off. Mother stopped by me, wondering what her daughter was upto. She proceeded with her chores, knowing that her kid was crazy in that short span of time.

I wonder where it's mate is?

a drizzle that ended

It started drizzling. No professor was in sight. They were free for some time, until somebody turned up with the attendance register.

Lunch boxes had been polished clean at that point of time. Filled with fresh enthusiasm, she ran down to the quadrangle. Standing by the fish tank, she held her hands up. With her palms cupped in the hope of catching a few rain-drops. She looked heavenwards, it was cloudy, indeed. She waited for the soft drops of water to flow along the fold lines of her palm and collect in the centre.

The others appeared with helmets in their hands. She was then reminded to do the same. She rushed to the main door, unlocked her helmet, and ran back, again, to the classroom. On placing the wet helmet on the nearest chair, she skipped outside.

The rain had weakened. Looking skyward, she so wished it would rain hard. A feeling of wetness was essential. Perhaps, to drive away the compressing humidity. Minutes later, the raindrops vanished completely. They were held in the dark and heavy clouds. 'Will they pitter-patter again?', pondered she.

This wish filled her heart, as she stepped into the classroom with a heavy heart. Somebody asked her, 'Is it not raining?'. She shook her head slowly, with gloominess writ on her face.

holi hai!!

I was watching CNN-IBN. They were broadcasting a show on the women from Kutch. They were sewing bright pieces of cloth together. The so produced quilt was indeed very vibrant. What a splash of colours.

The mood is that fun and joy. Every five minutes, a crowd passes by yelling in laughter. The streets are covered in a variety of shades, pinks, greens, oranges, purples..... Crows pick on broken bits of eggs which are scattered here and there. Buckets of coloured water are poured at random. Spectacles become clouded, clothes become shaded. One group visits the next road, spreading the cheer. Again, at random.

A boy scares away a bunch of young girls. Each one flies to a secure spot in horror. Loud laughter, jeer is heard. People are pulled onto the road from their hiding places.

Holi is one day wherein, i guess, the neighbourhood gangs up as one. In gladness and frolic.

I was watching Chitrahaar yesterday on Doordarshan. And was reminded of songs dedicated to this festive day.

Happy Holi!!

decorating...

It was about six in the morning. She tiptoed out, with a couple of books in her hand. Her sister lay asleep in the bed. She intended not to make any noise. Invariably, she did. The door was shut a little too loudly.

On placing the books on the centre table in the drawing room, she switched the lights on. White light flooded the room. It pierced her eyes, which were still laden with sleep. She again went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her eyelids. Picking the hand towel which lay on a chair, she went to the drawing room again.

She undid the locks of the door which led to the verandah. Quietly.

A lady opposite her house was washing the front porch. Moving in a rhythm, she neatly swept with a broom made from dried coconut leaves. A bucket of water was carried from inside. And soon, the entire porch, and some part of the road was also watered.

Placing the bucket aside, she again disappeared inside. She returned with a small box without a lid. Bending towards the ground, with her back facing me, she started aligning the rangoli powder in straight lines and curves. Five minutes later, a pretty rangoli decked the front porch.

The lady paused at this point, wondering if the rangoli required any modifications. She then, decided against it, and stepped inside.

The day passed on. Evening came. She again stood on the same verandah. Wind, dust, rain.... had washed away the rangoli. She stood there imaging a similar process the coming morn.

A new, fresh rangoli would adorn the entrance of the house. Welcoming any visitor with open arms.

women's day and....

Today is International Women's Day. A day when a woman is supposed to feel liberated, and experience freedom. Mother declared that she had planned not to enter the kitchen today. Well, i argued that, i too am a woman. She then, told me, a lady is transformed into a woman only after she bears a child. I do not agree with this. And i did tell her this. Nevertheless, we didn't discuss on this issue.

I'm reminded of Rudaali. It is a story written by Mahasweta Devi. It as staged and later made into a movie by Kalpana Lazmi. The music by Bhupen Hazarika is mind-blowing. Especially, the song: Ganga. What lyrics!!

I guess, i read it, when i was in high school and saw the movie a couple of years later. I was shocked. It was the story of two women, a mother daughter duo, who cries at funerals to earn a living. The conditions are dire. A meal a day is manna. It's pathetic, the scenes where they beat their breasts out. Accompanied by loud wails. It disturbs a sensitive mind.

A country where female foeticide/infanticide is rampant. On the other hand, we have a new-world woman, who thinks broad. Independent and strong-willed. Imagine, how vibrant the world will be. When each and every girl is provided a life.

Happy Women's Day!

on B's birthday...

I so wanted to see B. I guess, it has been a month since i saw her last.

Thankfully, i got to talk to her this time.

Three years ago, and i never could have imagined that i'd become attached to her. At all. Her mother R is a cousin of mine, and was is close to M. Who knew that, come time, i would wish to see her grow, learn new things every minute.

I wonder, laugh, whenever i hear a brand-new word emitted from her. When she scribbles on paper with pastels, when we play catch on the terrace, when i read to her, when she requests me to seat her on my lap, pulling an all-winning smile at the same time.

She is a mischievous kid, and i'm sure, we all loved her acts. I should be grateful to her, as she installed the much-needed patience in me.

Hope the all-overcoming grin lights her path for all time to come. And her gushing laughter provide her all the energy that is required.

Inshallah!!

ambling

When i was at MCC, during the last year of my B.Sc., i always used to spend Saturday evenings outside home. At times, Sundays too.

Saturday evenings saw me roaming along D. V. G. Road, Gandhi Bazaar Main Road. It was a routine. I would come home at about 6 in the evening, after having snacked at Chalukya. Father could be seen waiting for me. He could hear me grumble on the phone if he was not to be seen around.

We would go to Brahmins' Coffee Bar, near Shankar Mattha, or Roti Ghar. After having consumed some idlies, i used to wait for a hot cup of tea. Both places serve excellent tea. For a change, we used to buy badam milk from Roti Ghar.

After having filled our bellies, we would amble. Stopping here and there to observe various things. Colourful flowers with their fragrances pleasing the senses, vegetables at Greens and Grains, the tid-bits at grandhige angaDis', browsing through books at Ankitha Pustaka, staring at bright trinkets sold on the footpaths, looking for a particular author at a cart selling second-hand novels, sighting a new shop......

A visit to Gandhi Bazaar always had us returning home with something in our hands. Be it a pack of rava koDubaLes at Iyengar's Bakery, or vegetables, sanDiges' from Subbamma Stores, a novel, or anything that catches my fancy. During the entire tme, father and i would discuss everything under the sun, from activities at college, to Sri Sri Sri Ravishankar's efforts in minting money.

coming home, mother would get a detailed account. Often, i would spend the night on the couch watching a late-night movie. Anyways, Sundays are meant for laziness and waking up late in the morning.

Every time i try to seek happiness and peace, home is the first thing that comes to my mind. Obviously. It is the same for everybody, isn't it?

I run to Bengaluru whenever i get an opportunity. I find it difficult to pass time on holidays. I tend to think about home on these days, which leaves me disturbed. For a short period of time, if not the entire day.

I know, i'm not being strong-minded, brave and all that. I think i should try being all that. I wonder, how my friends manage when they do not visit their home-towns for more than fifteen days. I cannot do that.

Should i really be bothered by it, me ; a weakling? Does this really show me in poor light, lacking in courage and strength? Am i wasting time?

Or is it okay to be so?

sultry environs

Mysuru is hot these days. Summer is beginning to set in(or it already has?). The environment is so dry and pale. It looks sultry at the department. There is absolutely no shade of fresh green anywhere. Any sight of something pleasant and cool is absolutely welcome. Moreover, the dust cloud, raised from the movement of vehicles, settles on leaves. Making it assume a pale colour.

In addition to this, we have theory classes in the afternoon. We groan and grumble against it, to no extent. The professors join us too. In vain. They are helpless. Having to keep my eyes open during the afternoon session requires a lot of effort. Any amount of water does not help me.

I automatically take the to road to my Department without my knowledge. I simply ride along those roads. I might sound silly, but this indicates that i've aclimatized. I whoop in joy when i discover that i remember some well-known roads and places. I know, i'm still in the process of learning. But, i'm glad.

This week was quite bad. I had quite a bad fall. The wounds still haven't healed, but the pain had considerably reduced. Before that could end, a dratted cold caught me. My left hand was unmovable(?) for three-four days.

I started to say this, it requires a lot to stay apart from your loved ones, especially in trying situations. Shams, i'm sorry i said that it's a wonder to stay in a different city.