Tunes of nature

We in the forces can only have such a treat of being woken up by the melodious tunes of a pipe band. So my house here in the cantonment, happens to be located at a place which falls in the route for the daily drill practice of the band. Wherein they play while marching in a columnar fashion. But what made my day, was the tune they played today. It is of one of the most popular songs from the hills of Kumaun, ‘Bedu Pako Bar Masa’. Although I am the breed of one of those Non Resident Kumaunis , we had quite a big community in Lucknow, where I lived the early years of my life. The morning tunes today, took me back to the memories of our gatherings back home, where the folk songs from the mountains of now known as Uttarakhand reverberated. The music transpired by the tunes of nature, reflected the purity of soul of the simple people of this region. Aptly known as ‘Devbhumi’, the tussock of faith and devotion has been home to innumerous sages and seekers of tranquility since ages. Though born and brought up in Lucknow, I have grown in the environs of the protected culture of poorvanchal. As the marching troops passed by, the fading euphony lifted the mist of the by gone times and a serene timelessness prevailed. Running down the brown hills enveloped in the dried pine leaves, me and my brother stopping in between to shout our names used to get thrilled to hear them echo back. Snuggled between the tall mountains of Bageshwar, there somewhere amidst the calm and pure serenity of nature, away from the eccentric city life, was my father’s village, ‘Kuchauli’. Located in a valley, the village was surrounded by the ethereal beauty of kumaon hills. Tall pine and deodar trees swaying to the melodies of cool and fresh mountain breeze with the majestic view of the snow caped great Himalayas in far vicinity, the place was most loved destination for our summer holidays. Enjoying the joys of simple living we used to immerse ourselves in the unspoilt routines of village life. Living in the old but very traditional houses with beautiful exteriors carved in wood, the feel was just perfect for a relaxed time rediscovering the roots of our existence. The remote rural life, rich in culture and drenched in simplicity reflected in the kind hearted people of the village. Donning their customary dresses, the smiling faces of the 'pahari' ladies welcomed every passing by traveler. The sumptuous meal cooked on the slow wooden flames out of the muddy stove made it taste the best ever in the world. The cold water of the mountain streams, the step farming on the hills, the absolutely stunning clear night skies, all this and much more bundled up together, made this place a perfect antidote to the atrocities of this frenetic world. Drawn back from the yesteryear to this day again with the sweet voice of my younger one, the memories singing the tunes of nature which looked so far, though farther in the time lane are actually farthest in real time as the village worst hit by the brain drain stays abandoned by the young generation. An abode becomes beautiful when it has such people living there but here the village had lost its charm when I visited it three years ago as it lay deserted with people moving out in search of higher education and job. Moving ahead in life is good but if villages get desolated like this and we move away from our genesis then what are we preserving for our future?

SNAP SHOTS FROM A VILLAGE KNOWN AS KUCHAULI

Our ancestral house amidst the beautiful Pine trees

The village settled in the mystic valley 

The picturesque scene from the hills around

Taking break from work ladies enjoying the morning sun 

The roads emerging from nowhere

The village did’nt had a motorable road even uptill three years back

The beautifully carved wooden doors

That’s my son sneaking out of the beautiful window

The ever smiling faces of pahari ladies

The majestic view of the Great Himalayan ranges

                                        

                                            

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

A SANTA OF HOPES

Haylo friends. Today is 25^th December. And I wish you all merry Christmas. Why Christmas is merry and not happy I used to always wonder. Anyways it is yet another day in our life which gives us a reason to be happy and spread happiness around. As a child, the idea of Santa getting gifts for kids was fascinating. Though my biggest socks hung every year near the bed never got filled with any sort of gifts, even years after when I know about the mystery behind that sledge man, the thrill of watching a man in red robe distributing givings is unbound. Years down the line today, when I pack the Christmas gifts for my young kiddos, I try to meet the hopes of my little ones but I feel too drawn towards the happiness quotient of the not so privileged lot.

The under dressed kids near the roadside, gathering the warmth and life at this time of year from the not so well lit up fire, trying to envelope themselves in rags of their existence. There lies beneath a stack of bright red Santa caps and masks. The sold ones brought them the bread for the day and the unsold ones promising one for tomorrow. Some of them donning the cute look with the caps on, luring the kids behind the closed windows of the cozy cars. These little nothings who don’t even know the meaning of Christmas spread the happiness in the lives of our little bundle of joys by selling off the Christmas accessories. For them it is just another way of sticking to the thread of life. But we the privileged, educated and fortunate ones, at times snub off these unfortunate ones in the name of comfortable tags like child labour or mendicity. What we don’t realize is, that buying one more cap even if we have one, won’t take much out of us but would give us an opportunity to spread happiness in the life of these kids. Try doing it this festive season. Try buying an extra pack of finger chips or any snack today and give away to these kids around. Try and give any unused toy, clothes or books. Try and help them in any possible way. Even our little effort will bring so much of joy to their faces that I am sure we will know the pleasure of giving and sharing. We have always bought from these people at the signal but out of tantrums of our own kids. Let us today buy for the delight of these under privileged kids and spread the happiness in their lives. God has made us capable to help people around so let us do it and be a Santa. A Santa which brings joy, happiness, a belief and above all hope to live on.

DIAMETRICAL WORDS

As kids, checking horoscopes or finding out the characteristics of a particular Zodiac Sign used to thrill us and bring a zing to the life. Infact those of us still in the habit of flipping through the pages of daily horoscope, it becomes a mood moderator at times. Sometimes I wonder if my extremism and rapid mood swings have got anything to do with my being a Piscean or is it attributable to having a Hypo-Thyroid disorder? Thyroid, because though at times, but it is quite capable of throwing moods out of proportion. Well whatever the reasons may be, at least today, I look at it in a way that reaps the most out of it. Here I share with you an interesting one.

I love to read. But neither have I grown up in a book laden home nor it was a childhood interest. I happened to pick it up a few years back. Once into it, I thought ‘Oh what I missed all my life!’ but then almost immediately quite offended, my inner self replied ‘C’mon, at least you started it now and hello! Life’s not over as yet’. And now I say, “Thank God, I developed this habit”. I became a voracious reader only to slow down after my kids. So recently when I got on a reading spree, I was reading these two absolutely non-connected books which once made me slip into my spiritual shoes and at other time made me put my combat cap on to delve into some thrilling action. Well I am talking about ‘Living with the Himalayan Masters’ by Swami Rama and ‘No Easy Day’ by Mark Owen. Readers who are in a habit of reading more than one book at a time, will surely agree that it is a difficult thing to do and you need to have the knack of shifting from one mindscape to the other, justifying the grasp of the subject. So let me take these one by one to speak about it.

  

‘Living with the Himalayan Masters’ takes you deep through the spiritual journey of the sages and speaks about the eastern school of philosophy. In particular, it is an autobiographical account of Swami Rama in form of anecdotes. The book speaks about the spiritual encounters of the Swami and about his spiritual growth through the Himalayan passes and meeting with various sages and yogis of different practices. Written in a very simple manner, the book dwells on the ability of any person to achieve peace within and without the need of a structured religion. What I liked the most about the book is its approach towards getting over with the negativeness of life like ego, jealousy, mistrust etc. It reveals the life experiences of Swami Rama which transformed him and helped him overcome these pull backs in life. It is the story of an ordinary man who became a Yogi. And quite an interesting read too.

Now the second one which went simultaneously was ‘No Easy Day’ by Mark Owen. In the varied versions of Mission ‘Neptune Spear’, this book’s claim to fame is being the first hand account of the operation which killed the most dreaded militant and founder of the terrorist organization ‘Al-Qaeda’, Osama Bin Laden. Written under the pen name of ‘Mark Owen’ even this is an autobiographical account of a Navy Seal but at least half of the book is about the mission which killed Bin Laden. Being from the forces I could relate to the rigors of the training and exigencies of services. But the most thrilling part was reading through the narrative of the operation itself. Going by the high profile of the mission it kept me on my edges and curious about knowing the next move of the commandos. The book has been written well and takes us on a spine tingling ride of adventure.

So now that you know about the two diametrical books, I am sure you would understand that how at one point of time I was sailing in the sea of spirituality, trying to explore a pathway to peace and tranquility and almost immediately with a pounding heart became an invisible member of the killing team through the greenish haze of NVGs. And even if you do it that well, what would you attribute it to ?

Rumblings of Yesteryears

      

A new pen, correction, a new fountain pen rolling over an old piece of paper, which happens to be an old diary. You have to do it, to feel the pleasure. Recently I was gifted a fountain pen by my loving husband and as it coincided with his birthday it assumed the status of ‘Return Gift’. My love for fountain pens dates back to my school days and somehow the rosy splendour of writing diary. Being a diarist, preserving expressions on this immortal piece of paper was the most rapacious and never satisfied part of me. So revisiting the yesteryears through an old diary, takes one down the foggy memory lane and makes relive the obscure moments. As I open this oldest diary in possession the page here dates 7/8 April and the year printed as 1994. Wow! as I write on this old memoir,  I am exhilarated and taken back to the nostalgic times where I see myself as an fifteen year old, that year on this day.  Here I bring you the excerpts of some old musings etched on this faded lines.

03^rd Mar 94

I stand still, finding my pathway to peace

Dreaming of golden moments in a tranquil sea

When my heart will be filled with compassion

And when I’ll be really passionate about passion

I know you’ll be surprised. A fifteen year old talking of tranquility and peace but that was just a phase. Being raised in a strictly disciplinarian family, asceticism came naturally to me and that’s kind of okay but what went wrong was I was, may be too strained of that environment and felt scrupulously drained of emotions which was certainly not okay for a girl of that age. But as it is said, the onset of youth characterized by sweet sixteen for a girl’s age, bring changes which can be unfathomable at times…

10^th Aug

To my dreams,

You look so radiant as never before

Drenched in a snow white glow as never before

I am blushing again as he adores

I am deep in love, tells me my core

Now does this require any explanation? I mean the transformation of thoughts. Alright let’s leave that aside and talk about the realization of love for one aged at sixteen. I guess most of us part of the sated generation have indelible memories of our first crush, Love I won’t say now. Down with the love fever I write again

13^th Aug

Love is my strength when I am weak

Love is my voice when I can’t speak

Love is my sight when I can’t see

Love is the best I have in me

My world is better as I have love with me

The red blushing face, drenched in love fervor of a young girl of this age attracts attention instantly.  The dancing hairs, sparkling eyes, the warmth of the crimsoning cheek, the effervescent smile, they speak it all. I continued to be in a world of my own which is so full of magical emotions of passion, romance, tenderness and joy.

03^rd Nov

‘O No! Not again’ she cries

An ecstasy was finished

She tried to resist but in a mist

A soul is frayed and it is repeated of late

Same agony prevails as it is aggravate

She rises up and falls down

To thousand chains when she is bound

Pathetic she lies, indolent she lies

Is that the way she dies?

‘No-No’ she cries again

But is she the same?

Uncannily she rises to tear the spell

Abated she rises to abate the hell

Nativity is reenacted but this time as hatred

Tintinnabulations fill the air

And tell the world ‘Be aware’

Agony is born and the disaster is on

To fill in the gaps, I had a ‘Black’ day in my life when sanctity of my body and soul was attempted. I was lucky for having escaped the situation with little hurt but it left me in a traumatic state. The stigma of having touched and forced upon stays with me even today. Though the magnitude of violation of my holiness was nothing as compared to what we often see these days, I am filled with sense of outrage when I see myself so enveloped with such issues almost everyday. Being aware of such crimes increasing in the society, I feel I have an important role to play, as i am a mother of two sons and its my moral duty to groom my sons to respect the being of a woman. I have a task at hand to educate them so that not just they grow as sensitive human beings but also spread their values for the wellness of the world. Let us groom our sons before teaching other's daughters what to wear and how to behave.

A diary is full of so many colours as it reflects life and its vividness. Try and preserve your times, good or bad, to enjoy your today even tomorrow.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Write Over the Weekend theme for this week

This week your post should have five different colours acting as adjectives for five important words, around which your write-up revolves.

Prankster's Den

I never knew marriage would bring out the bachha in me like this and life would be once again filled with the childhood excitement of playing pranks and getting pleasure out of it. Jiya, my lovely wife gets startled easily but that doesn't stop me from scaring her with sudden appearances. Infact, now we maintain a score against each other and it’s a never ending game which adds spice to our life. After all life’s all about small doses of fun. But because of the horrendous screams of Jiya, everytime we had to send a ‘All is well’ text to the neighbours followed by detailed explanation the next day. Jiya's screams always brought mischievous smirk on their otherwise stressed faces granting the screams as authorised to a newly wedded couple. I guess that was okay with us also initially but I guess then it started becoming a bit embarrassing. One day I got up at midnight as I was feeling thirsty. As a dim light is always ‘ON’ in the dining area and the refrigerator is next to the kitchen door, I am generally okay with not putting ‘ON’ the kitchen light. I took a bottle and closed the door of the refrigerator and then I heard Jiya getting up. In our home the bedroom door opens straight into the dining room that means it is in line with the kitchen also. I knew that not finding me in the bed she would look for me and come to the dining area. And as she did that I opened the door of the fridge with a jerk and threw my left hand and leg in the air. She howled and screamed on top of her voice as the light of the fridge throwing up on my face and half hung self made Jiya cry like hell. Realising the level of horrifying deed, I quickly ran towards her. I hugged her tightly and tried to pacify her but to no use. She kept crying for a good amount of time and to top it, my nieghbour also gave a call to ask if ‘All is Well’. Now that was may be a bit unexpected at around two past midnight. “Look Jiya, I’m sorry. I really am.” I was trying to console Jiya who was still crying miserably. “Please forgive me and I promise we would put an end to these stupid pranks”. Now this one probably worked and she looked relieved. We slept off that night holding each other tightly. “Positive effects of scaring your wife”. Ha ha!!

But now how to gain that sadistic pleasure again. He haw haw haw!!! I just promised Jiya that I won’t startle her but the show must go on and it demanded lot of innovation this time as the tricks had to be new and of course required a certain level of expertise. Alright. My wife is a fitness freak and doesn't  miss her daily walk for anything and that day when she came back she had a stuffed and blocked ear. It is a very irritating thing to go through. I have experienced it myself. So when she got it, she came to me. “Harsh I don’t know how I caught it but I noticed it during my walk.  Guess I must’ve have developed it during sleep”. I kept my book aside and listened to her. “It has even started paining now and its making me going crazy. Please do something about it.” She holded her ear and sat on the chair next to mine. Suddenly my prankster mind started working again but I devised something simpler this time. I took some time to fiddle with my laptop and came with the bright idea. “Sweetheart I just checked on net that in this particular situation if you keep your ears covered for sometime then this stuffiness goes and it helps to reduce the pain also. Try doing it with the earphone as it will fit the ear well and will not allow the air to move in at all. If it doesn't improve till tomorrow then we will see the doc.” I tried hard and succeeded in controlling my wicked smile. Now jiya is kind of less techno savvy and more than that, trusts me for such solutions, so didn't made efforts to check back on net. I gave the earphones to her and she placed them on the ears like an obedient child. It was 8 in the evening and surprisingly she hadn't remove it till we hit the bed at 10. I kept looking at her again and again and there was she busy with her household chores with the earphone on. I smiled and got busy actually searching the solution for stuffed ears at net. By the time she came to the bedroom post dinner it was more than two hours and I guess her patience just gave up. “Harsh this earphone thing is just not helping. Are you sure this would help”? I looked at her sympathetically this time. Poor girl was still donning the wired gadget even with her night suit on and I realized that it has been stretched too far. Now how to own up the act. But had to do it. So as she lied in the bed, I quietly said “Jiya, if you promise me that you will not get upset with me I’ll tell you something”. There was a confused look on her beautiful face. Generally such stuff is said by a lady and more so it was just not my thing. May be thats why I did’nt put it up that well. The question mark look on her face was waiting for me to speak again. Quite meekly I added, “Sweetie that was just a joke. Earphones don’t help for stuffed ears.” I was barely audible and conscious of her reaction, there was a sinking feeling. “Whhatt”? She snapped. “Come again. I think I did’nt get what you said”. I guess her reaction was genuine. I might have not made myself audible. Trying to put up a brave self, I carefully placed the most adorable smile on my face and spoke again “Jiya that was just a small gag”. “Life had become so boring after that night. So simply to make life a bit more interesting I …”. Although I was trying to justify my deeds but seeing her red face I couldn't complete my explanation. “And to do that, you made a bakra out of me”? She loaded herself with the nearest pillow and charged at me and then just did’nt stop. I kept running from one room to another shouting “Jiya, m sooooo sorry”. But as if her ears actually got stuffed up. I kept shouting, she kept following till her ears forced her to stop, due to the increasing pain. And then I slept at the couch and she ruled the bed that night. “Side effects of playing a bad one”. 

This last one made me one point up but knew Jiya won't leave me now. Was a bit cautious but never knew she would strike back this way. It was a weekend and yet another reason to celebrate life. Planned or impromptu, weekends are fun. So this was a Saturday. Jiya had made ‘Pao Bhaji’, my favourite. A perfect way to end an evening full of endearing times, soft music and my favourite drinks. Where I enjoy my drinks, Jiya is a teetotaler. But that’s okay as she doesn't have issue with me drinking. Although she would love if I don’t drink but since I like to, she’s fine with it. So after my evening shower I placed the makeshift seating in the terrace, put on the music and went towards the bar. As I opened the bar my eyes popped up with shock, there was not a single bottle in it. The very next moment I got assured that Jiya might have cleaned the bar today and forgot to place the bottles again. “Jiya, where have you kept my bottles”? There was no reply. “Jiya, my bottles”? Again, no reply. I went to the kitchen to speak to her but was taken aback to see her smiling. “Jiya, my bottles are not there in the bar” I was impatient. “Yes. I threw them all”, she said in the calmest way possible. It appeared as if while speaking she developed horns on her head and dressed in a black cloak, she looked like a witch to me.

“You did what”? I couldn't believe what I just heard.

“You had enough fun in life now its my turn to see how you spend a weekend without drinks. And mind you, today is a dry day so won’t get anything outside also.” She nailed it quite well.

My recent acts didn't leave me in a position to utter a word. Still I made an attempt before calling it quits. “Jiya, I know I have troubled you a lot but take out your grudge some other day. Just forget it for today. Afterall, its a Saturday night. Lets have a good time together". But of no use. Jiya had made up her mind. As there was no point in convincing her, I sat quietly at the bean bag in the terrace. My mind was racing to find a solution to the problem and there I got one. We as college students used to try cough syrup to get a feel of that light headed feeling. Getting liquor for underage youngsters is banned. So we had this alternative. And that day was one such day after long years when I didn't have a bottle at home and couldnt get one from outside. There was no other way out of this problem so picked up a bottle of cough syrup from the bedroom and sat quietly at the bean bag. Jiya sat next and couldn't stop laughing. I looked at my empty bar and then at cough syrup in my hand and sipped it quietly. The evening breeze enjoyed it all. The music, the grin, the smile and the smell of cough syrup. The prankster’s den just saw the scores drawing nearer. Add your own crazy ideas to make the battle more exciting.

This blog is part of Write over weekend initiative of blogadda where a story is to be weaved around the three words, Prank, earphone and cough syrup.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

My tryst with every Biker's delight – The Royal Enfield

As an amateur blogger, I have been on a desperate lookout for opportunities and inspirations to write. And as charity begins from home, I promised my darling husband to write a post on his biggest obsession, his third love after (i assume) his lovely wife (just being modest :)) and of course his profession, The 'ROYAL ENFIELD'. In desi bhasha 'BULTT' as my husband pronounces it and also makes my kids say so. So here I go to write few words on the legacy of this every biker's delight. 

After years of waiting for the right time and appropriate financial status, the moment finally arrived. Adi (as he is mostly known as), my hubby became the proud owner of a brand new model of 350cc Thunderbird and also the first to own in the entire city. Have a look at the majestic royalty.

                                       

I had never experienced the kick of owning an exclusive piece until that day when the majestic black beauty possessed undivided by Adi, hit the roads for the first time. The subtle 'dhuk dhuk' of the newbie charmed the tarmac and took the new world with its appealing looks. Although black in any form is always beautiful but believe me this colour never entranced better. The distinctive style statement enhanced by the sparkling LED tail lights made the envious heads turn on the road. And to top it all the dazzling head lamps announced its incoming the royal way. It certainly made Adi feel ‘King of the world’ truly the filmi ishtyle. Every stop at the signals left the onlookers dazed in a complete state of awe. The inflated sense of pride made the new bike the most proud possession and latest crush overnight. Though caught in covetous fever, I loved the joy on his face when he donned the modern classic. Every morning, cleaning the bike became more of a ritual and my neighbors would invariably pass a smirk ‘stop cleaning it so vigorously or soon it will give away its colour’. Even I used to ride bikes but his unparalleled passion for the new bike was far beyond me. May be it was more of ‘Men and their cars’ syndrome redefined as ‘Adi and his bike’ syndrome. Such was the level of possessiveness. Anyways, it was okay till the time it didn't cross me.

Bogged down with the too much of this ‘bultt’ fervor, I decided to have a firsthand experience of the delight of riding one. Quite confident of my biking skills I asked for the keys from my husband, “Let us go on a ride and this time let me drive you. Its been a while you got your new bike and surprisingly I haven't motored it as yet.” “Some other time sweetie. Its still so new”. He couldn't have been worse on denying me. I would have appreciated a more sober refusal. “Possessive haan”? I tried to pull up my offended self. But naah! it did’nt make the things better as his next statement worsened the fresh wound, “Look, I know you have been riding bikes but riding a bullet is a different game altogether”. Quite unaware of what his words were doing to me, he quickly added, “but if you really want a feel of this beauty, we’ll do some practice sessions before you actually go zip, zap, zoom”. Awe !! this last hit was really bad. I felt abused literally. “I don’t believe its you who’s talking this Adi! Disgusting. Have you buried the memories when you slipped on me because I used to drive your bike and that too really well ?”. “Yeah I do remember sweetheart, but here we are talking about The Bullet”. Fuming with anger I stormed out of the room as I realized there is no point taking this discussion further. “I will have to prove myself”, the biker in me spoke “and I will do it by driving his bike even if he doesn't agree. Even if he doesn't know”. A vicious pleasure gripped me all over. In the evening after dinner, when Adi and kids were engrossed in having their daily dose from the idiot box, I slipped out with the bike keys. I realized that I will have to drag the bike out to some distance so that Adi doesn't notice my venturing out with his new found love. A date with hubby’s love. The mere thought of it rippled me with unbound rush of adrenaline. But soon the happiness started fading away as dragging the heavy metallica was draining me out. But then I reminded myself of the afternoon punches and motivated to pull the heavy thing just some more distance away. Carting the machine I was already getting the feel of the caliber in question and I reassured myself of that. After reaching a convincing spot I overpowered the monster and made a self push start. For a second, thoughts about inquiring about the basics regarding the gear sequence flashed my mind but already out on the mission defiance, shrugged them off immediately. So this was the way the much talked about tryst with every biker’s delight started. Careful about handling this touchy object of pleasure, I played safe and googled on my phone about the rules of the game. Armed with the required info I launched. I flip flopped the mundane regular streets to make way towards the nearest highway.  Riding at a comfortable speed the smoothness of the ride was becoming impressive. The elusive ride with a thumping sound of vroom was already taking my heart away. The king of Indian roads maneuvered like one with a hold of the ring like none else and also made the biker feel like one as the posture was so tycoonic. The immense power made me also fall to the lovely beauty and I smiled thinking of Adi and his emotions for it. Again the response of the fellow bikers and the envied looks which were coupled with a surprise to see a lady riding bullet gave a never before high. But the reactions also made me think why biking is considered such a male domain kinda stuff. Anyways, I drove and drove and cherished every moment of it. As Adi says, a bullet ride is best enjoyed at a relaxed pace and not by speeding up. I totally agreed. The land cruiser left me in a state of trance which gripped me all over and I just wanted to go on but then looked at the watch to realize that it was already past an hour I left home. I should have been worried about getting my secret drive known to everybody but after taming this beast there was no fear but a sense of pride. Ready to take a U turn as a I stopped at the next cut of the divider, my eyes widened to see a familiar car at the far end of the road. There wasn't much traffic at the road but being careful of the vehicles passing by I, waited for the car to come near. My jaw almost dropped to see it nearing. Adi with the kiddos in the car was joining me at the junction. It was a mixed feeling of fear and excitement. Fear of having ventured out secretively and excitement of having done it successfully. Caught in blended emotions I fluxed out of the crossing and moved to the other end of the road to stop and waited for my family to join in. And then the car came and stopped in front of me. My kids jetted out of the car and hugged me fondly. “Mama you drove papa’s Bultt !!”. The awestruck faces of my li’l ones unnerved me a bit. And then as Adi joined I was again speechless. “So you took the bike against my wishes?” There was a killing silence. My face all red it appeared as if it was enveloped in fumes. My hands and feet drenched in sweat. Holding the kids tight my heart went berserk, pounding at a riotous rate. Dumbfounded in a self created situation, I wanted to sit in a time machine and take a reverse route to home but nothing of the sort was going to happen. I couldn't take my head up and look into his eyes. I could feel his eyes tearing me apart with anger. Just on the verge of a nervous breakdown I heard my elder one breaking into laughter. Immediately joined by younger champ, I was stunned at what was happening in front of me. And then I gathered courage to look at Adi who was making futile attempts at controlling his chuckling laughter. I was going mad looking at the three men bustling with belly aching 'He Haw' and needed an explanation right now but couldn't gather the courage to ask for one. Realising its time to ease me out Adi spoke. “I saw you moving out with the helmet. Although I was fuming with exasperation, decided against stopping you and followed you with the kiddos. My anger started dying down as I saw you driving and mastering my bike. I was so wrong! You are an excellent biker who can drive a bullet too.” My tears which I was holding on to, all this while, no longer listened to me and rushed down to cool off my heated cheeks and I gave myself to the open arms of Adi who embraced me fondly along with the kids. “Now lets move back before the whole traffic stops to have a dekho at our family reunion”, he smiled and I wiped off my tears.

After that eventful nightout, biking together is a regular feature with us where Adi gladly agrees to switch roles. Days passed and we biked happily ever after. 

                               

This was taken on one such drive. Although face all covered its meeeeeeeee.

Mirror, Mirror on The Wall

Mirror mirror on the wall

Who’s the prettiest

I asked them all

The answers were different all the time

And never took a name which was mine

I kept looking in the mirror day and night

When the mirror would love me and hold me tight

And last night when I woke up in my dreams

I saw myself looking at my extreme

She looked so gorgeous full of attitude

And told me the secret to my gratitude

I walk with oomph, I walk in style

My style is so classy, its so versatile

Sarees, suits, a dress or pair of jeans

I carry it well just like my teens

Biba, Lakme, Levi or Gucci

I match it well with an elegant Mochhi

I dress to charm, I dress to kill

I keep it impeccable yet simple

I am a fashionista , I am a diva

A girl full of compassion

And passionate about ‘FASHION’

I heard it all I heard it well

To push myself out at last from my shell

The beauty is in me as the one in the mirror

I just have to know how to make it clearer

So if I ask the mirror next

The beauty would be me unperplexed