Water Cycle

Parked at a corner lay my rickshaw under the light of the street lamp, elegant and still as ever and here I was, smoking up the last of my day’s beedi. As I rubbed my palm over my stubble and wondered when I would be getting my next shave, my eyes caught two figures approaching me with bags full of stuff which I presume must have been their shopping for the day. They appeared not older than 20, must have been college students and before I could make out their faces, one of them called out to me. Not knowing that I’d already had their attention for the past minute they ran up to me, in the fear that I might vanish into thin air. After a word or two about the destination and price, they hopped on to the rickshaw. Looking at my passengers, I realized that one of them was bulkier than the other which meant I’d have to put in that extra effort into those legs of mine. So a rub of the old guthka between my palms and a toss into the mouth and off we were, into the night.

I hadn’t even moved a metre when came the sound of distant thunder as I instinctively tilted my head to the heavens. Following suit, came the element of water splattering over my temple as though I had been blessed by the rain gods. As the drop trickled down over my face, I looked behind at my passengers and they too could feel it. They could feel the coming of chaos, the chaos that made everything stand still. The wind picked up and so did the falling of drops. A common man’s instinctive mood would be to look for cover but somehow, I wasn’t in the mood for it. As if they had read my thoughts, one of the two behind me asked me “Do you mind driving us in the rain?” I just looked back at them with a smile and nodded. Nothing could stop me now from becoming one with the rain. I took out my packet of guthka and handed it to them for safekeeping. They kept it with a bemused look and pulled over the canopy above their heads as the rain pelted down on the three of us. Moving my rickshaw with the strength in my legs, I could hardly make out of what lay in front of me, I just chose to keep myself moving in one direction. I passed by my fellow rickshaw pullers under the shade of trees, buildings, bus stops who looked at me and laughed at my insanity but I chose to care less. I was having the time of my life and my worries and sorrows had been swept away by the rain. Soon the water started dripping on my friends too but they didn’t seem to be bothered, they too were enjoying this frenzy of nature as we took a stroll through the forests of rain.

I looked up at the towering street lights as they illuminated the drops of rain that had now reduced in number. I wondered how we all were also like drops of rain, some being smaller, some being bigger, some faster, some slower but at the end of it all, they are brought down to the same level once they hit the earth. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even realize when the rain had stopped and when I had reached the destination. I slowly pressed the brakes and my rickshaw came to a halt. My passengers got down, wet and wild but not as drenched as I was. I was handed the dry and crispy notes for my services, notes that were my income, my food, my water and not to forget my guthka which too was handed to me, dry and warm as ever. As I was about to push my feet back on the pedal and head back, I saw a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and it was the bulky of the two passengers who was staring at me as he said “Thanks for the ride”. I confess, I was taken aback by this untimely gesture but it moved something in me as well. My friends had gone on to their homes and as I pushed my rickshaw on the wet dark streets of the city, I remembered my Late Grandfather here. He used to quote “People with worlds of differences can feel as one under the hand of God” and today I felt the warm hand of God on my wet shoulder.

The Teenager

Stirred from my slumber by the golden rays. I open the window to a new day. A day like any other as thoughts rush back into the head as I become aware of my surroundings. The remnants of last night play back as I retrospect, I try to recall the mysterious dreams and somehow like Freud, try to relate them to my life. Never do I get an answer. I pick up the newspaper which never fails to impress me. A neat and tidy document that has been twisted, turned, thrown and been given oh so many forms of physical torture. But at the end of it all, it is ready to wish me good morning and educate me a little bit more. As I look at the first page, I see what the world has done to itself. Butchered, Smashed, Crushed, Hammered and Whipped itself only because it had an itch. Another day, another blast, another terror, another suspect and another dead end. Dictators are hated by all but I look at them in awe at times no matter how brutal and inhuman they were. Quoting the words of Joseph Stalin " The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic." Words so sinister yet so true I am yet to hear.

Then my eyes shifted to a corner of the front page and I looked at something that made my tummy take a somersault. It was the date. 14th September 2008. A day before my birthday. In other words, the last day of my teens. I felt weird and as I sat there blankly staring at my newspaper, I ran through the pages of my life. Starting from my 13th birthday to all the things I had done the following years, the ups, the downs, the tears, the sweat, the girls, the papers, the new looks, the lies, the friends, the fights. It all seemed to pass by so quickly. And today was the last day of that life and maybe something was still left for me to do before I let go of this part of my life. So I stood up in an instant as the sun shone on my eyes and I as if posing a challenge, stared back at it huffing and puffing. I looked at my bed and wondered, "How many hours and days I had wasted of my teens just sleeping ?" I tilted my head low in shame. But I tilted it up again with pride and with an agility that I had never had before, jumped back into the bed as I answered " Maybe Not Enough"...

My Raging Fire

I have this slight tickle in my belly. After a long time, I have started using the internet for more than just orkutting, facebookin or chatting. Sure, I would come to my blog to check if any one had commented on my previous blog posts or not since I had kind of become one lazy bum when it came to writing. But today, i have been given a reason to write. I have realised that I can't keep waiting for creative ideas to spring up in my mind so that I can post them on my blog. Sure, I don't have a way with words but now I'm looking outside my window and I'm surprised to see that there is a storm brewing...

People have started writing and for somehow reasons which are well above my understanding. I have this blog to maintain known as the DREAM COMPASS but I fail to see anyone making an effort to bring forth their ideas. I only see revolts springing and mud slinging. Peace has always been something volatile that can't be just kept constant. There has to be some itch in the back after every scratch. And so, I'm done with my couches and my potatoes. I can't wait for Minerva to shower her blessings on me and make me a genius. I will just have to keep on with whatever I have. I am tired and in need for a long vacation, away from this chaos and hustle and bustle. But since there is no way out of here, I can just wait to see how the cookie crumbles. I feel helpless at times and at others I feel hopeless. There is fire in many of us and it is time to bring forth our own...

The Dream - I

It was just a dream but it had felt so real.

A bright and sunny day it was and I was back to being 3 years old. Note more than a foot high, cradled in my mother's arms and sucking my thumb I was living the good life.As I looked onto her face, I knew that this day wasn't like any other. There was some sort of excitement on her face, a mixture of feelings seemed to be empowering her face as she carefully changed my diaper. It was as if she was uncertain, unsure and then I saw it happening. As slow as it could get, came a deep, long sigh from the depths of her lungs.

She was nervous

As she carried me out into the open through the the front door of our house, the sunlight hit me right in the eyes and caught in the glare as I squinted, I managed to figure out the shape of my car where sat two figures at the front. As we moved closer to the car, I realized that the two figures were no one else but my elder brother and father. My brother seemed to be in an awkward costume, dressed in a white shirt and shorts, with a tiny green belt around his waist, white colored socks,shoes that had been polished since last night and not to forget a bag hung around his shoulders with a water bottle around his neck. The look on his face seemed to be of total glee and eagerness as as he kicked the air happily. My father, still in his kurta and pyjama had a proud smile on his face. It was one of those 'firsts' in his child's life.

His first day at school

A Hobbit's Tale

Far away in the realms of Middle Earth.
Rested a small region called Hobbiton.
And in a small corner lay a little town.
Known as the Shire, by all and one.

Where chimney smokes rose, white as snow
And trees danced in the music of the winds.
Here lived in a shack young Bilbo Baggins.
With tales up his sleeve that none would know.

One midsummer’s night as he sat in the fire,
Smoking his pipe and making round rings.
Staring with intent at his lone window pane
As he watched them trickling, the drops of rain.

As the fire crackled on through that hour.
The clouds thundered on as though turned sour.
The clock at his bedside ticked with each second.
But then from nowhere came a sound unheard.

It was a croak or a crack, he knew not which.
There was one and another and one more !
Whether it was a beast or just a little insect.
He had to find out, for it was now his itch.

The clouds had ended their tumultuous spell
But the mysterious noises refused to cease.
As the door opened, out came a figure all in black
It was young Bilbo Baggins, exiting his shack.

A lantern in his hand, he traversed through the mud.
In search for his beast that he sought to slay.
In the light of the moon, shadows danced on his face.
As the moths wavered about in their time of play.

His ears at his legs, he wandered on ahead.
The noise grew louder and more in number !
Was he alive and awake or deep in slumber ?
Nevertheless, he proceeded to meet his fate.

Soon he found himself reaching a small bog.
Enveloped in the sounds of different sorts.
There were chirps and croaks and hoots too.
He knew not where to look and what to do.

So he closed his eyes and raised his arms up high.
And in a heartbeat, the cacophony came to a halt.
Struck with the silence, he couldn’t believe his ears
With his head tilted to the stars, he opened his eyes.

And then he slowly looked down at the bog as it was.
But now he felt alone and afraid in the dark night.
Had he been abandoned due to fear or due to anger ?
Maybe his presence was an unwanted sight.

He lowered his arm to take leave when came a sound.
A chirp could be heard and then came two, no three!
Witnessing this ensemble, he smiled and waved his arm
The chirps waved too, rising and falling and moving around.

Then he waved his other arm and followed suit the croaks.
Waving his arms about along with the sounds of the night
He loved each moment of this strange and lovely escapade.
He was now a conductor and this was the choir he had made.

Climbing atop a rock, he looked down and heard them sing.
Which was once a racket had now turned into music!
As he stood there waving his arms in the moonlight.
The moths joined too, hovering above his head in a ring

Young Bilbo was there all night with his new found friends.
He even chose to sing a lore or two that he found to love.
And then danced a little too among the croaks and chirps.
Under the stars of the night he wished would never end.

Soup, Specs and Stars

I was woken with a jerk as the bus pulled over at the bus station. I hadn't realised when I had fallen asleep but I sure wasn't happy to be woken up. It's hard to sleep in a rickety old bus that has to travel for 6 hours and stop at every point to pick up people. I didn't mind the bus company making its living but flooding every inch of the bus with human kind wasn't my idea of making profit. Anyway, my legs were all cramped up and I had to move out of this temporary prison of mine. Descending down the steps, the cold caught hold of me and went straight to my nose resulting in a loud sneeze. Achoooooo !!! I sneezed, cursing the cold. Wiping off what was left of my sneeze by my sleeve, I proceeded on to the bus station (or what was left of it) in search for food,warmth and a place to pick up that much awaited long distance call of nature. With a stretch of the neck to the left and a quick glance to the right, I found myself right where I was with nothing. The cold was getting to my throat and more importantly, on my nerves. Comfort was what I was looking for in the middle of nowhere and I was just getting poked by the spring of the sofa.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glance of something rising up to the air and vanishing into the dark sky. The view drew me closer and closer like a moth to light and when I was finally there, I saw this man wrapped up in everything he owned, peering out to the crowd with the only opening in his ' attire '. His eyes seemed to be old even though he seemed to be much younger. And there he was, serving tomato soup for a meagre 10 Rs. Tempted by the thought to help him and the more tempting thought of savouring soup. As I took the glass from his woolen glove, I let out a slight 'Thanks' and left him with a brand new 10 ruppee note, just to give that extra happiness that may give him warmth on this cold night.

As I blew on the soup as lightly as possible making sure sure not to spill any, I tilted my head upwards and stared into the night sky. Many a times I would do this without any reason or purpose, always search throught the deep dark voids for something. Not a UFO or an undiscovered planet, but just for soemthing, maybe I searched for myself. I could see only a handful of stars and always wished to have a telescope to uncover this blanket of darkness and reveal the cosmos to my eyes.

At that moment I realised that I had something with me, my new pair of specs that my mom had insistently made for me. I hated them the moment I put them on and swore never to wear them while I can see the number of fingers on my hand. I took them out of the case anyway and put them on. There werent any giggly girls or nosy bullies to mock me, it was just me and the night, embarrasment was a milestone far far away that said " Far far away 0 km"

As I took a sip from the hot soup and looked up into the night sky, an emotion came to life in me that started from the tip of my fingers to the tip of my nose. It was mixed with the tangy taste of the soup and the sight of watching thousands of stars so clear and alive for the first time in my life. It was like little white dots had sprung up out of nowhere and even though they were millions of light years away from me, I felt like i could pluck from the sky and place them on my cheek as glitter. I gazed and gazed and gazed a little more, it was a wonderful sight to see and wondered if anyone else ever tried this while at this bus station. It was an amazing feeling to be out there in the cold and yet be radiating with warmth that came not only from the soup, but from every cell in my body.

I stood there till the bus sounded its horn for us to depart and get on with the journey that lay ahead. As the wheels of the bus went round and round, I closed my eyes (still laden with my specs) with the image of the stars pasted in my mind and the taste of the soup hovering over my semi-burnt tongue.I enjoyed the rest of the bus ride happily ever after.

A Father's Day

Dear Son

How have you been ? Hope you are in the best of health and are taking care of your mother. Do fill me on the details of her condition. I am very proud in the effort that you have been making in taking care of your mother despite how grave her situation is. Just have faith and pray to the almighty that she starts to feel better soon.

As for me, I have been reassigned to a post known as Ghungar Pass, it is a post that has undergone a lot of heavy firing from the enemy territory. It is much colder than my previous posting and life is a lot more tedious. The nights are the worst when all you have with you are your clothings and a thin sheet that hardly proves to provide any comfort. I wish no person has to ever endure this torture. The facilities are really poor and for food, all we are given is a mixture of rotten milk and stale wheat. Sorry, I didn't ask about the food at your end. I hope you are able to purchase enough with the money I send you. I don't know why I am writing such a letter to you son but I have no one else here to talk to except the snow and the dead trees. I suppose fathers are supposed to be an inspiration and a role model to their children but today as I write this letter, I myself seem to feel out of place and am looking for reasons to feel proud and love my life.

I hope you are able to cover your studies well and are attending school regularly. Education is a very important part in one's life and I regret not giving it that much attention in my own. I want you to be the man I could never be son. As for this war that I have been entangled in, I have no idea how long it will last. Last night, I heard from the senior corporal that it might take months. I feel like I'm living an endless night where there is no peace, no sleep, no sweet dreams, no moon and no stars... just absolute darkness and I feel the shadows creeping in closer with each passing day.

I do not know when I shall be able to send you another letter but always remember son, never lose hope in yourself, one can always make something of himself in no matter what state he/she has been put in. Just remember to keep that hope alive in yourself. Live your life to the fullest son. I fear that I may never be able to share your first beer with you or give you the keys of your first bike. But promise me that you will never forget who you are and remember that I will always love you and be there for you. Maybe in your prayers or in your dreams, I shall be watching over you. Whether I return at our house's doorstep engulfed in happiness or wrapped in a flag, embrace me like you never have and welcome your father back.

Take care son

Your Loving Father