Puzzler Reloaded

     In the spring of 2012, out of the blue, I started writing. When I say writing, it was not my regular ponders and awkwardly chopped sentences dressed up as poetry that I started writing! My creative energies were busting at the seams for a short while and those evil energies made me take up the 'walking on eggshells' task of writing a short story. In my not so seasoned tenure as a reader and writer, I had come to love one form of writing over all else - and it is the short story form. When you are limited by the words you could use, when you are expected to convey a lot in little, and when you have to culminate an idea into a few short pages, that is when, according to me, one's play of words and ideas come into actual play. I was feeling very brave and a little adventerous - the end result was something that had two main characters who were lost in conversation and each other's company as arbitrarily as the idea to engage them thus had stuck me - It all happened under the moniker ' Puzzler' - except the result never 'ended' meaningfully so to speak!

     The venture generated interest in my close (and only) circle of readers. Just then, I made friends with a man my dad's age and he would diligently ask me how the story was suppose to end. "What happens at the end Laxmi?" He would ask in his cute Gujarati doused English accent. "Wait and read" I would answer while trying to figure it out for myself. Truth be told - I could never really end it in one way or another. I wanted the story to mean something else, and suddenly, the two main characters, that I'd christened with names close to my heart, seemed like my children. I couldn't do one wicked thing to them or another  and I couldn't really justify writing further, in the spirit of how I supposed an ideal short story should be. I didn't visit them back in words - as much as I did in thoughts till the following spring, and this one, partly because of my own attachment and curiosity as to what would happen to them and majorly because, a good friend of mine, who is easily my biggest admirer, kept nudging me to complete the story.

     Puzzler became a part of our every conversation. "When is 'Puzzler' on again?" The friend would steer our every conversation, every chat into that direction at one point or another - to an extent where I would evade the question and change our direction of discussion. Till the persistence won over my reluctance to deal with my literary children. In my signature spontaneity, I promised that I'd get it all done and published by the end of this month. Now, I am going to keep up the promise, aren't I?
So, for the past few days, ever since I slapped a deadline stamp on my promise, the characters sneaked into my head with cozy sleeping bags - and no, they don't sleep there! - They talk their heads off...they eclipse my every conversation, every thought, every action, every minute, second and nano second of my day. I try, but fail, to lull them to sleep. Incidentally, the past two years have seen me grow up in a way I never thought possible. In a way, I look back and wonder, if I started writing this story, just to complete it a couple of years later - after evolving, getting stronger and ahead from where I was when I was in the gestation stage of that idea.  Puzzler might not be my ideal 'Short story' - It might not strike a chord, it might drown in all the sense, nonsense and everything in between that seeps into my blog and my brains. It sure will be something close to my heart nevertheless.

     And, It shall all be in black and white, printed and published before the end of the week. The promise will be kept, the work shall find its destiny - for the haunting is a little too much to take! - Especially when one of the haunters is not a fictitious one ;-)
   
   

A day transformed.

     It was a dampened Saturday. We woke up and then were stuck indoors watching the time pass by, through the back yard window. We were determined to change the mood of the day and ventured to step out and have lunch at a local Indian restaurant. The skies were gloomy, there was an irritating drizzle which was neither here nor there. The roads had puddles of water and the moisture in the air made the hair very frizzy. As we entered the place, we noticed that it was packed to the brim, leaving one small table, as if it were being saved for us. The most conspicuous seating was in the center of the cramped place with three 4 seat tables joined together. It was occupied by individuals that looked so amazingly harmonious. They were dressed in shades of sage green and steel grey camouflage uniforms,  navy green knee high boots and some of them were elaborately decorated with badges of honor. Each of then sported a replica of stars and stripes on their right shoulders. "The United States Army" the lettering under the flags read.  Amid the group of eight people was a woman with crowfeet accenting her grey eyes and a pile of strikingly platinum blonde hair piled up on the nape of her neck in an unkempt bun. They were placed at a very observable distance from where I sat - this small flock of soldiers for the US army. They were all lost in animated conversation which was very soft and inaudible even in that cramped place. I caught glimpses of bright smiles, nodding heads and cute gesticulations while trying very hard to not be an obnoxious onlooker. Soon I realized, I started looking through them while my mind buzzed in familiar territory of daily ponders.
   
     These men and the lady, all sitting amid us right now, must have devoted hours of their life, amid peril and jeopardy protecting our nation while their mothers and spouses, siblings and children waited for them with baited breath and daily prayers in hopes to see them in a single piece one day. These soldiers must have been deployed to dangerous places, seen their peers get badly injured or dead, guarding the freedom all of us take for granted. It is to these seldom celebrated men and women of great character and sense of duty that we owe our order and peace in lives. I felt a rush of adrenaline to my brain as I tried to visualize their typical day at work. Soon, I was brought back to reality when one of those soldiers, now standing near the counter to pay his bill waved and mouthed a 'thank you' towards where we were sitting. I wanted to look beyond me but realized that I was so close to the wall that I could bump my nose into it if I cranked my neck any further to look behind me. Another solider joined him, with his hand on his heart, bowing in our direction, and the third one walked to our table, shook hands with the better, significant, other half (There I got all of it in one phrase) and said "Thank you so much, but why would you do that?" - The spouse gave the characteristic shy smile and said "To thank you for serving our country" - Soon the whole group huddled around us. There were bright smiles flashed back and forth and the army of gorgeous people walked away with a spring in their step.

     I sat there, almost frozen, and then something inside me broke into the warmest of smiles that surfaced to my face, which transformed the gloom outside into an unexplainable ecstasy. This moment probably defines the two sides of our marriage - the dreamer and the doer. The next time I open my mouth to complain that the significant other doesn't use words like I do - I should remember that there are many things in the world that speak louder:-)
     

This n that!

Y

          As a child, I was a huge dreamer and a very detailed one at that! Perhaps, a little unsettled and fickle too..well, actually a lot unsettled and fickle. All these qualities gave me multiple and mysterious auras. I had people around me, including family members, uncles and aunts, sort me into assorted stereotypes. In one phase I was an 'all wrapped in myself' child. At an other, I was a teenager in a fantasy land. Into my late teens, I was an 'unrealistic escapist'. I talked very less back then. I never made it a point to challenge any of these slottings. My words were confined to my head, and it kept buzzing with loads of them, all the time. I was very present in my world, I just didn't make it a point to hype that presence. And that led to a lot of liberal branding that was stamped onto me. I knew very young and ahead of my times that I was not looking for 'approval'! My ambitions were conspicuously absent. My dreams were obnoxiously prominent. I was very laid back.."What is the difference between laid back and lazy?" Someone asked me. I found answers in my own head. Laid back was a lack of rush, a lack of definite dreams and a lack of conscious drive to achieve them. Lazy was a lack of intent to act, lack of activity, so to speak...in my own head though, mind you :-) I was never lazy. Seldom physically, never mentally! But my ambitions were always very trivial. Mockingly trivial in the present context.

           I find joy in little things. My sense of accomplishment blossoms when I cook a hearty meal, take an extra effort to teach a child how to draw the star of David with its six points aligned in an eye pleasing manner or sort my  thoughts out and get my own approval. Cause as much I am 'Oh so easy to please' I find me looking down at myself all the time. Lately, I had realized that being ambitious has many facets to it, and doing the trivial things is actually the tough thing. 

          

           As a home maker with a part time pastime ( I cannot call it profession, the teaching I do at home) I find some time to volunteer at my kid's school. My voluntary work dated back to when I was much younger without the kid. I went, got my TB test and finger prints cleared to teach math ( in our neighborhood school) to kids that  were academically challenged. I was stuck with ill behaving, temperamental preteens and no pay whatsoever. I kept at it and one day, The toughest of the boys actually confessed that he 'misses' me when I take a break. Just recently, I took up the overly ambitious task of working with a mixed media project in my kid's classroom. I go in there to teach art every week. This particular one was over the top, done on a 16x24 construction paper. It involved 26 unruly, emotionally unstable seven year olds, colored paper, scissors, crayons, sketch pens, glitter, glue sticks, cotton balls, foam sheets, paint and pointillism. I dealt with frustration, pouting, tears, whining, pleading and a lot of 'what was I thinking' thoughts crossing my mind. Five hours of hard work, and the masterpieces were put up on the wall to marvel at. I was rewarded with puny hi fives, hugs and smiles. No paycheck, no certificates of excellence. I walked away with a dull headache, a cranked neck and a grin pasted from ear to ear..I am still the same all these years, still slotted, still laid back..but I suddenly realized that I am possibly the most ambitious person I'd ever met, and thankfully, I don't need an approval stamped on it ;-)

An ode to Avocado

Pray, when was my first tryst with you?

'Her Royal Yumminess!'

Was it when you sneaked into

A cold cucumber sandwich?

The unexpected explosion

My tastebuds underwent

And haphazard hands

Rummaged through its contents.

Buttery soft, brightly hued..

How amusing,  that you occur on a tree!

The day when I laid my hands

On your intriguing green shell,

Little did I know of the fling in the offing.

I slice open a piece of a miracle -

An inspiration that cruxes my salads,

That were religiously avoided for

For a score and ten years;-)

The scooping that enhances

Every crispy tortilla chip!

And, the icing it was -

When you spruced up the mind

Giving palettes to paint my abode!

Oh Avocado, bloom and bear,

In my humble back yard

And grey matter alike!

Thus, all smitten and smiling

I  solemnly freeze you,

With doodles of words

And colored pencils :-)

(picture - done with oil pastels and colored pencil)

Hope

   

Bare thoughts

Branch out into nothingness.

The lifeless twigs,

Heave in heaviness -

In Anticipation of hues

Casually dabbed on,

to create some vigor.

Bare thoughts -

sway to the winds,

Gently reminding 

That it might look like vacuum

But it isn't!

Unseen, unheard blooms

Would sprout on the glooms,

Oh, when does it occur?

The thing that springs 

Out of lifelessness -

Like a hope, wrapped inside 

A hopelessness!

Bare thoughts

Waiting to unbare

Bowing with the weight 

Of merry foliage!

(Picture - Done with mixed media - Camlin Oil Pastels, colored pencils and crayons - on sketchpad)

Reflections

Normally, when I feel strongly about a ponder that crosses my mind, I end up recording it the way it is. This particular ponder, more of a reflection, is of a sensitive nature. Just want to add a disclaimer that this is not being done in an egotistic standpoint nor does it intend to put down the person this ponder is about. When you detach yourself from a scene and look at it as a third person, the visual you see sometimes startles you with its simplicity, beauty or both! - This blog is going to record one such visuals - examined with a totally different pair of eyes and a brand new perspective almost two decades later. Please travel with me to my high school days, down the memory lane! Also, I refrain from taking names for obvious reasons - privacy and all that ;-)

My high school years were wonderful - They introduced me to some of the most valuable relationships I have in my life today - starting from my better half to a handful of friends who are now an integral part of who I am, who form my core group and support me no less than family. This ponder has to do nothing with all these relationships. Infact, this is a ponder about a person that never ever spoke to me in my life barring one questions that would be divulged later. For convenience I'll call him Jo - So, Jo was this quiet, brooding kid, lanky and dark complected with eyes as black as coal. He had lush and meticulously oiled hair matching his soulful eyes and a presence in the class that would not be noticed in his absence. He was as inconspicuous as it could get. So, I had never ever noticed him for anything more than his name being called for attendance. And then came our fun day Fete...This guy had talent, he could sing! I saw a bunch of classmates convincing him to perform on stage and I cheered him up alongside them and that was the only interaction I ever had with him in the two years we attended the same class.

It was time to bid adieu to all my friends once my high school was complete, I was about to pack my bags and leave to my native place, to join my parents and siblings. Emotions were high, we poured our heart out in each others' memory books and hugged and cried like little kids. The day came when a handful of us, outstation students were homeward bound - and on that night, in the railway station, came Jo - of all the people, to see us off! - He came to me, held out a note pad, and asked me for my mailing address (and that was the only sentence he spoke to me, ever!)  - It wasn't the time of social networking, heck - it wasn't even the time of cell phones and email addresses - it was mid nineties and only people who mattered to each other took the pains of writing actual letters and mailing actual cards. I took the pad, slightly surprised, and scribbled my mailing address - just to be polite.

Later on, I came to know - through a common friend, about Jo's feelings for me. When I first heard about it, I couldn't be more surprised than I was. This was a boy that never made eye contact with me, let alone talk - how could he 'fall in love' with me of all things? Doesn't falling in love take some 'knowing' a person? Slowly, the feelings came out of the woodwork. The first ever correspondence I received from him was a card with a playful monkey on the  outside - "Me, Like you?" the monkey asked the reader with a grin "Of course I do" was what read when I flipped it open. Jo mailed it to me, signed 'sincerely' by Book-Post - the card was not sealed. Well, in my household, my parents never read our letters - but this being an unsealed one, led to my dad opening it and reading the content - when I reached home that day, my dad casually handed it over to me and mumbled something under his breath. I could catch bits and pieces of "Why does this generation waste money on cards to convey random things?" Fortunately, that was the problem he had :-P

This was followed with a few letters - I opened one of Jo's letters in a room full of friends, not knowing it was from him, cause the outside of the envelope never disclosed who it was from. A cascade of rose petals fell out of the letter and onto me, almost like a blessing. It was an embarrassing moment then, but it gave me goose bumps and a big grin every time I'd reflected upon that experience. The cutest of the lot came one January afternoon when I was getting ready to go out. A telegram on my name was what the postman announced and I opened it rather confused and tense - "Sincere greetings for the republic day, long live the republic" was the content of the greeting, undersigned Jo. It was the 26th of January.  That piece remains a fond memory in the annals of my correspondence. It still makes my close circle laugh in memory of that telegram. But a few years later, when I grew out of my teens and life started settling, I reflected back on Jo and felt really glad for his presence in my life.

I never replied to any of his cards or letters notwithstanding his repeat and persistent attempts. I didn't have an answer he was looking for and I didn't have the heart to tell him to move on with his life and not waste his time on me. Like every young woman, I had my share of young men who vied for my attention and affection. Some stalked me, some made lewd remarks and blew whistles when I walked past and some threatened to beat up the guys who spoke to me. Jo was very different. His regard for me was evident in every word he wrote to me, his innocence shone in all his correspondence. Last time I checked, I heard he is happily married. I am sure Jo is a wonderful husband and father and puts the women in his life on a high pedestal like he did to me during the time he was smitten and called me his 'first love' - If nothing else, I owe him a huge 'thank you' - Thank you Jo, for all the regard and love, (which, I am not even sure, why I deserved), for the most sincere cards and words of pure admiration, for beating the day lights out of the guy who tried to bother me, for respecting me, never ever forcing your feelings on me and giving me the opportunity to experience all your untold feelings for me. Apologies for not being able to acknowledge them - rest assured, I smile my brightest when I think of your innocent telegram. Here's wishing you and yours a very happy Republic day - long live the republic :-)

Superhero

 Veiled under a wide rimmed hat,
Beams, your ripened finesse.

Airy lenin sprawls,

Adding unexpected poise - 

The characteristic stubble, 

Silver and sparse

Cuts through the patina

Of aged perfection.

The ringed irises might be well concealed,

But not the light they emit.

Long legs, larger than life

Legacy on celluloid,

That would never ever fade!

Lineage of lofty verse you descend,

Adding fragrance to your golden grace,

Humility gathers an all new height!

In your gently towering frame.

Do I hear ? with my heart's ear,

Your profoundly deep vocals,

Brazenly exclaim..                                                                   

"Bhudda hoga tera Baap"

(Picture Inspiration - a photograph posted by Mr.Bachchan on his FB page- done on sketch pad with my kid's Crayola crayons :-)

Gait

The burden of a daily chore,

Nestling between dainty hands.

The stacked circles of vibrance

Bounce gently, creating Jingles!

Grace rests, 

On the curves of that waist - 

Swaying with a dancer's ease.

Folds of draped fabric

Contouring the silhouette,

The agile form glides.

Is it my fondness

That she whisks away

Wrapped in that load?

Brutal the scrape

Of her killer appeal!

(Picture inspiration - Madhuri's Gajagamini poster - Oil pastels on watercolor paper)

DIsguise

It is one thing if people don't find you good enough to acknowledge. I find absolutely nothing wrong about it..But I am sure, everyone of us has received at least one of those compliments which don't fall either under 'compliments' or 'criticism' - you scratch your head wondering if the person just said something nice about you, or put you down in the meanest, most conniving manner. More often than not, the latter would be true in these cases and the one innocent being at the receiving end is left feeling awful. I had my share of these well crafted atrocities and I very clearly remember some of them.- Like they say, the thing you remember about people is the way they make you feel.

Not too long ago, I had a visitor at our place. The couple came from India and wanted to stay with us for a few days. We happily obliged. One night, when I was making dinner for all of us, the lady casually walked to the living room, held out a bunch of our photographs and started flipping through them. She paused at one picture, looked at me with a half smile and asked "who is the lady in this picture?" - It was a picture of me, taken a few years earlier. I didn't look alarmingly different from the picture by any stretch of imagination and even people who'd see me for the first time would recognize it as my pic. The only difference, I would say, was a few postpartum pounds piled on my cheeks and midriff. I looked back at her and said "It is me" - Now the crafty smile in question broke  clear and she added "The picture looks very pretty - I could not recognize it as yours"

After that, I let out an awkward smile and got to doing what I was doing. The woman who just, indirectly told me I looked ugly in my present 'heavy' frame was not a teenager, she was not even someone in her 30s - she was my mother's age, pushing into her sixties and she had known me long enough to know how I looked before having the kid. If she were any younger, the sassy part of me would have asked to look at the pic once more and said "Oh, sorry, this is not me, this is 'Kareena Kapoor" and watched for her reaction.

If I say, that 'compliment' didn't effect me, I would be lying. It did effect me - It did not effect my confidence and my self image nor did it push me into an inferiority complex about how ugly I look, but it did make me ponder why people go out of their way, create a situation and then make the painstaking effort of putting somebody down. I hear many more such things in my day to day life - aimed at me, and the people around me. Why do we say such things? Why do we have to say something mean if what we see is not what we like? There was another instance, that took place, and there was another kind of 'praise' paid in my tribute - I went to a social gathering once and a gentleman tried to introduce me to his guests. "She is a singer" he started off..."She mastered Hindustani school of music and is now into mastering Carnatic" - I paused for a couple of seconds to really understand the satire behind the statement and asked "So are you complimenting me or mocking me?" That had taken him aback - Anyone who knows how hard it is to master a classical form of music would agree with me on the exaggeration of that statement. And I was a novice - a fact which was very well known to that person :-D

In an other instance, when I chose to wear a saree for a cousin's wedding, a lady walked to me with an expression that looked like she was in the middle of an intense poker game and exclaimed "you look different in a saree" - I was a lanky teenager then, and to date, I keep guessing if she meant to say I looked awkward and the saree didn't suit me.

I have many downfalls..but my biggest strength is my thick skin. I can cruise through the lousiest of insults like they are not aimed at me. But on a day to day basis, I see people who get immensely effected by the bad vibes and words others aim at them. There is absolutely no need to walk to someone and point out their shortcomings and weak points, especially when it doesn't help them in anyway to improve upon them - I particularly despise remarks that aim at the 'physical looks' of a person.  No man or woman chooses the color of their skin, the strikingness of their features, their height, their metabolism,  the luster of their hair or how tired they plan to look on any given day. Every one has a baggage to carry and losing weight or straightening their hair might not be on the top of their priority list. Negative remarks can really pull people down and the only thing that could get more spiteful than those negative comments are the negative comments disguised as positive ones. It would be wonderful if people can sift their thoughts and give out only the positive ones :)

Beholder

Am I really that special?
She asks!
I fail to see what you behold!
"Do I tug on a cord of your heart?
Can I believe what you just told?"
You tell me I light up,
Your life and heart..
In a crowd of  lasses, I'm class apart!
My eyes you say, like stars they shine,
My smile is nothing short of divine!
Does my pout truly hold you in awe?
My hair you insist, is simply wow.
Can I believe, what you just told?
You call me your own pot of gold!
But into the mirror, when I glance,
I wonder if you're lying by chance!
My brown skin looks dull and dark..
My eyes don't sport a pretty spark!
My missing teeth, they mock my smile,
I lack the look, I lack the style..
My buddies call my hair a nest..
Then how can someone call me the best?
"Beauty, my dear" the mom replies,
Shines in thoughts, and the heart it lies..
When your pure thoughts pour out,
My life, they touch..
Pretty faces don't really count for much..
The ones that love you for who you are..
See the beauty in your heart, my twinkling star!

Solace

These knots,
Knit with love,
With pride and joy,
Chosen yarns of
Lasting thoughts,
Making nips
On heart and soul.
These knots,
Increase in strength and form
These knots refuse
To follow the norm -
They make up for a cozy cloak,
Fuzzy calm, they wrap, evoke..
These knots crocheted
Around the soul -
Adorn  the insides
Bright and whole.
These knots of symbols.
Letters and words
These knots that mean
Beyond the Worlds..
They do not bend,
To follow trend,
To be graded,
Or to offend.
These knots that make my wee cocoon
These blessings, these verses,
These knots, my boon!