दूसरों को हैं जानते मगर खुद को पहचाना नहीं,
छोटी सी है बात मगर सबने इसे माना नहीं ।
- Source: Kavi sammelan (Youtube)
छोटी सी है बात मगर सबने इसे माना नहीं ।
- Source: Kavi sammelan (Youtube)
Tuesday, 20 January 2015
Monday, 19 January 2015
I am..
They call me elegant, they call me pretty,
They call me canny, they call me witty,
I tell I do not fit that fashion model's size,
They say I am telling lies,
The curve of my waist and the bulk of my hips,
The charm on my cheek and the towing gravity of my eyes,
This is all that appeals the world's fancies,
I am exceptionally a woman, or merely a woman.
I walk into the room, just as cool as you please,
I have the tolerance to bear the obnoxious blames,
I have the valor to invade their reins,
I have the valor to invade their reins,
I have my stand, and I seldom bend,
I never weep in the solitude, unlike the trend,
My power is exceptional, that's how I am rational,
I am exceptionally a woman, or merely a woman.
Saturday, 17 January 2015
On the Street
(This is purely a fiction)
The morning sun had just started beaming and emitting soothing warmth. It was a Sunday morning in January. The dew drops were almost dry by now.
It was a crowded street. The air was dusty, since the sweeper hadn't finished sweeping the street yet. I was 8 and was accompanied by my father, who held my hand and we started to walk upwards the slant unpaved narrow lane. At the origin of the lane was a Hanuman temple. The gentle sound of the priest chanting morning prayers and ringing of bells alongside by the devotees waned as we distanced from the temple.
The lane was occupied on both sides by vegetable vendors. Some were sprinkling water on their vegetables to keep them afresh. The water that fell on the floor produced a soft fragrance of the soil. The smell of onions and garlic was spread across. The vendors were cited repeating with ardor, rates of the vegetables they had for sale. The intermediate voice of the weighing scales and their weights was inter mingled with theirs.
People kept rushing across in the wee hour of the morning, and some others stopped to buy the vegetables.
The jingle of an old lady vendor's green glass bangles over her sagged skin was apparent, while she was arguing with one of the buyers who seemed to be bargaining the rates. Another vendor was shooing away a brown cow which was trying to satisfy its appetite with the leafy vegetables he kept for sale.
As we moved ahead, three children nearly 5-6 years old, were running haphazardly quarreling over a blue paper kite, and occupied most part of the lane. I incidentally stepped into a puddle of mud that appeared from the middle of nowhere!
As their voice faded, we came close to a shop that served snacks. I could sniff the fragrance of fresh samosas being fried. It was a small shop, with discolored walls, a cook busy frying samosas in a black kadhai (utensil) and piling them onto the giant plate to his right. Another one was preparing tea, letting the tea to drop from a height back to the vessel to add flavor. Four or five men were chit-chatting while being seated on brown colored stools kept out there, sipping their tea and eating the samosas. For the time until we walked past the shop, the heat of the stove helped us feel warm on that chilly winter morning. A few feet away, the cool breeze could be felt again. We returned home after buying our vegetables.
If observed closely, this busy street wraps a whole town in itself.