The Forgotten Window!

It felt fresh as the long night descended with a crisp of winter morning breeze. It whooshed its way through the broken glass of the forgotten window.

With my withdrawn eyes from the habituated look at the Ganesha idol on my table, I drift to the old teak cupboard situated at the north corner of my dim room. It was flaking brown, a bit of dampness at the back of it spoiled the edges of my neatly ironed shirts.fiction, one-shots, inspiring story, old-age, generation gap

A smile lit up as I knew they were never to be worn again, I was going back in time, flooded with memories of my childhood as the stream of morning light hit my light brown eyes.

My grandfather was still alive and healthy until I was seventeen. With the budding new mustache, there was a new love budding in my heart. Back then, every girl sporting long hairs and a bright smile were meant to be made for me. I smile at those days of daily crushes. And my grandfather was my guardian!

He was more a friend than the generation gap could define. He wrote letters and had me cycle my way near her house. He knew the art. After all my grandmother had fallen for all his efforts and still used to blush whenever she was reminded of it.

The cycle was a priceless possession for it came to me at the age of thirteen and I had cycled my way through the dense forests and roads bereft of people. The clink of the cycle gave me a strength that could have me face the fears of the silence in my world.

He fulfilled all the duties that my father thought was unnecessary. The same cycle took me to the barber shops, it took me to the Gemini circus where the monkeys had snatched my popcorn, it had taken us to the river banks that had crocodiles. My grandfather was an adventurous boy. Yes, a boy.

The best were the crisp night walks that we took after our dinner. He helped me break window panes and run like the little kids would. Even at the age of sixteen.

Then at the age of eighteen, I lost him and it was never the same again. I grew up and married. It has been so many years and he still stays alive.

As I look into the mirror, I smile for I resemble him. My grandson is sixteen now and it was time to meet him. For the first time.

They are settled in abroad and my son along with his family are to be here tonight. My wife departed a week ago and my son is arriving tonight!

I sigh, deeply hurt by the raging timeline!

But I promise that I will give the rest of my days to the grandson who has never met me. I will let him feel what it feels like to be adventurous and happy. I will let him know that the broken window panes give much joy than the seamless streaming of games online.

I will show him a new world through the forgotten window and things are never going to be the same.

I took my old camera, this will do the rest! I smiled as I drifted to a new dream!


photo credit: akigabo Longing via photopin (license)

Sparkle- A Shade Of Narcissism

Sparkle.

I named my new dog Sparkle. When my brother grimaced at my choice of the name for a ferocious looking german shepherd. There was a grin on my small face!

After all I had a reason to name him that. As I stood in front of the long mirror examining the woman I have grown into. Well defining features, authenticity in my being, the absence of the usual dove-like feminine features. A smile that could conquer a crowd. A perfect height and a dusky beautiful Indian skin-tone.fiction,one shots, motivational post, inspiring post, narcissm,

I might sound a bit narcissistic but hell with the society norms and the ideal pages from history. It is time to rewrite how we look at ourselves. Yes, we need to appreciate the beauty and we are skipping all the skinny, fair standards the magazines and the glamor world defines. I want everybody to look upto themselves for the beauty is authentic, it is formed and defined by the fights you fought, the tears your pillows embraced, the punches your punching bag silently took, the bruises that faded without notice, the smiles that enriched your life, the falls that taught you to pick yourself up.

Yes Everybody should have a shade of narcissism in them when it comes to how you look to the world. Create the world you want with whatever you have, however you are. Because you are not mere bones and muscles and skin tones, you are made of experiences and survival stories.

My survival through my ordeal had come by as a present in the beautiful package, yet there was something missing in the perfect reflection.

Yes.

The sparkle.

The bright sparkle in my eyes was lost surviving the ordeal. Hence I named my dog sparkle to remind me to embrace and regain the lost sparkle in my eyes and to light the world around me.

I was sure of the birth of the sparkle in my eyes as sparkle came running towards me and licked my legs!

The Mid-Summer Stranger- OneShots

The mid-summer sun promises of much exhaustion, but that day. The Bangalore roads were traffic free. The reason, Bharath Bandh, so it wasn’t just Bangalore who had the benefit of crowd free roads but the whole country celebrated a moment.

But, there is a man with a story. He doesn’t catch anybody’s attention, his attire, simple and dirty. He could come by as a homeless traveler. The authentic cotton white hat adorned his head barely giving away his receding hairline. His long silver beard is dusty with the pollution in the scorching sun. As he crossed the road teary eyed, he coughs twice least bothered about the city etiquettes of covering his mouth.

He wipes off the shining sweat beads off his forehead and drags his way with all the weight his torn bags are carrying. He crosses the road a bit limping and weary eyes cautious of the speeding vehicles.

“Rajajinagar?” He tries stopping a rickshaw with a tired tone.

“Bharath Bandh”  a group of aggressive Patriots shouts slogans along the road.

Every shop was shut down, every mode of public transport was temporarily at a halt, and every other middle-class citizen had a problem with this.

I sit inside my AC filled car as I dodge the reclusive heat of the sun. All the designer wears on the online shopping venue doesn’t catch my attention as the struggling stranger does.summer day, bangalore, traffic, story, fiction, writer, blog, author

With a punctured wheel, I await the return of my driver who has taken ages to search for a garage that could replace my wheel and get me home to my loving family.

I observe the man as he struggles to find a way to commute.

“Madam, can you give me a lift. It is an emergency, and none of the buses are in movement” He narrated his state that  I was well aware of, in his broken Kannada language.

“Where to Sir?” I ask him, trying to quench my curiosity.

“Water madam” He almost begged. I withdrew my curiosity instincts and fetched a bottle from the back seat.

He gulped it down like an animal. I made him keep the bottle.

“Where to, Sir?”

“Rajajinagar” He squeaked

“But that is two hours away from here, and I’m not traveling that way” I made sure he understood my Kannada and gestured him the absent wheel of my red swift.

“Oh, how can I help you, madam.” It was a spontaneous reaction that fetched him the respect he deserved.

“Sir, It is ok. Let us sit under that shade of the tree until we find help” I lead him to the only tree on the roadside in the next 50 meters.

“The place where I come from has lots of trees and cleaner air to breathe. We have bullock carts that help us commute. But Bangalore is like abroad for us” He smiled as he reminisced his village.

I nod my head in an assertion.

“I came here to see my daughter who is in this city. I have her address as well. It has been ten years since I saw her. See. Also, I came here to give her these” He opened his dusty bag to fetch a three football sized watermelons.

“Why doesn’t she come home?”

“She married a Hindu, and I couldn’t forgive her for that. Allah Maaf Kare” He silenced with a prayer

“I can understand Hindi, and it happens. You realized, and you are going to meet her. That is really a good thing” I smile at his acceptance.

“I am too late madam. Today is her 23rd birthday, and she is no more. She died a few weeks ago, and I never got to know. I heard she has a five-year-old daughter. My grandchild. I’m taking these for her. She is my Sabha now” He gulped down his tragic story.

I sit there with a shiver on a sunny day. Here was a father going to visit his dead daughter after years and there is a kid who has never seen her maternal grandfather. Will they accept each other? Do ego and religion come in between any relationship, any blood bond?

As I gazed into the oblivion, a car stopped in front of me. Chandini, a friend of mine from school, got down for the customary reunion hugs.

I ask her a favor to drop the old man to Rajajinagar, the place where she resides. A few minutes later, I still sit there wondering how time flies and what we lose. We need to acknowledge people around us. We need to tell them how much we cared, loved and sacrificed for them.

Essential as it is to tell, more needed is the heart to forgive and to forage out our own imperfections and move on in life. With love, with gratitude and a smile that can make memories live longer in the hearts and not just in the camera rolls.