Dreams.....

How often do we dream? DO we really need to run all the time? Cannot we think of dreaming as a way of unwinding? Did you know there's a poet in each one of us?

Dreams....

I had wished I could dream

I’m glad now I carry many a dream……..

A long morning I’d have with our daughter

Away from the routine

Giggling and exploring gardens

Where we’ve never been….

An afternoon of tea with memories of the years

That we’ve left behind as the calendar had to change

The ‘cell’ and the phone kept on ‘mute’

As stories with my husband I’d love to exchange

Evening would slow down

With our son holding the oars

Our boat rowing in dark blue waters

Before night opens her doors….

A long letter to some childhood friend

To wipe off the decades and the miles

My heart will be poured out, wounds shared

with words wrapped in tears and smiles….

A night I’d be under the moonlit sky

As stars would twinkle and shine

Constellations I’d watch and count

and click the silver mine!

To search for a meaning in life

I dive deep into my mind

More dreams keep cocooning there

With time, wings they’ll find!

Swimming Saga

Would he give up? Or would he continue?
If you are mulling over sending your child for swimming classes, then this is for you!

Swimming Saga

Summer came visiting again and this time it was the swimming class that caught my son, Dev, and his father’s fancy. Our neighbour’s son, Dev’s best friend, swam superbly well without any training and had impressed my husband with his swift moves in water more than once. It was not only him, but me too who secretly wished our son too would swim equally well, given a formal training. I still don’t know how to swim, and Dev’s father knows a few tricks, but has a lot more to learn. Secretly we wished Dev would make up for that.

My eight-year-old rushed down the steps in his swimming costume, a mass of energy and enthusiasm, my husband in tow. After an hour, the father returned, looking happy and satisfied. In three days the smile vanished! Within a week, his face had knitted eyebrows and my son began coming home with a glum face. What was going wrong?!

“You’re not following Sir’s instructions properly,” the father grumbled to which Dev said meekly, “But I am.”

“He is not concentrating during the class,” my husband complained the very moment I opened the door to the duo next day.

My little daughter Vini had been keeping me busy and so I didn’t really know what was going on in the pool. Forever patient with his children, I had no reason to doubt my husband was wrong in judging Dev’s efforts to learn the art of swimming. I didn’t take it very seriously though, and said some words of encouragement. But I thought he didn’t really need that because he was most likely not focusing enough but would be compelled to do so by the trainer soon. There wasn’t any significant change in the next few classes though. Time was running out, because there were to be around twenty classes in this session. Now I felt I had to be a little firm.

“Why aren’t you observing Sir’s movements?...............

Grab a copy of my book 'Rays and Rains' from flipkart to find out if Dev could tackle the unsavoury situation.....

http://www.flipkart.com/rays-rains-colourful-diary-life-journey-parents-children-english/p/itmefspxbpnpyvsu?pid=9781482833638&otracker=from-search&srno=t_5&query=rays+and+rains&ref=5a40d318-c780-42d6-a039-a51b8aea907d

Have you ever thought of yourself as a 'BAND-AID'?

Have you ever been a 'BAND-AID' to your child?

More importantly, has your child tried to forgive and forget? Has she or he been successful?

“Why did you leave me and go to her house?” My son sounded devastated as he came up the steps, his friend following him.

“They called me for snacks. My mom was there too. So I went.” Dev was not convinced. That his friend alone was invited and he was forgotten obviously hurt him. He picked up his recent most acquisition, a tool set, complete with hammers and spanners. Dangling it right before Ravi’s nose, he triumphantly declared – “My papa got it for ME from U.S.. I’m never going to share this with you!”

Not to be outdone, Ravi promptly took up his long-forgotten badminton racket from Dev’s toy basket, retaliating, “This is MINE, not yours!” So the battle had begun…..it was almost time for adult intervention.

Dev and Ravi are next-door neighbours and soulmates….well, almost. Their families stay in the same apartment. The kids’ screams and laughter on every holiday they share keep our building alive.

Ravi’s mother rushed in, blissfully unaware of the latest in the series of hot-and-cold sessions of the two pals. Giving me a hurried account of their busy day ahead, Sona coaxed her son away for lunch. Her timing could not have been better.

My four-year old looked up at me, his eyes two small pools about to overflow. He has always refused to accept that he too has been equally disloyal to Ravi in the past, leaving him alone during peak hours of their play sessions to attend birthday parties, armed with full knowledge that cute return gifts’ awaited him there. The issue of why his bosom friend had separated from him voluntarily on a holiday lay unresolved. And the risk of Saturday lunch slipping away from being the usual family event loomed large. The occasion demanded that I help my son through this heart-breaking episode. Taking up the challenge, I said…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....................................................................................................................................................................................

"A crestfallen mother had to reluctantly accept the truth – I was only the hurriedly put “band-aid”. Dev’s “cut” actually healed with the magic word “Sorry” from his buddy.

As I leant back in my armchair, peals of laughter of two happy souls from the lawn came floating up to me. I smiled at my

selfishness (How could I be pleased with their fighting!?) and my foolishness (How could I even think of replacing Ravi!?).

I took up my long-pending book, relieved that my son is finally learning to forgive and forget, but staying prepared to serve as a band-aid once again, just in case he felt the need for it anytime.

As long as mothers existed, there will never be a dearth of these special “band-aids” in this world!

You can grab a copy of my book 'Rays and Rains' from flipkart to find out how you too can be a BAND-AID.....
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Click on the link below to get your brain cells cracking! Beginning with science for sixth graders.....

https://aparajitabosedreams.wordpress.com/2013/12/10/get-your-brain-cells-cracking-think-science-with-tickling-questions/
 Beginning with sixth graders now.....more for others later again.....

MY WINGS!

It is time you discovered your wings!

 The untimely rain today helped me discover my wings.

It has begun to drizzle. Just when I am about to step out for my daily afternoon walk, the water drops have begun their journey from the sky to the earth below. I am a little annoyed that I cannot keep the promise I made to myself - the promise to go out and feel the pulse of nature. There is a stretch in the jogging track within my premises, an apartment complex bounded by walls that runs parallel to a huge green belt just outside our boundary wall. It is this spot that fills me with pleasure every time I pass by it. It is to look at it and feel something waking up in me that I have resolved to go till there and stop for a while before resuming my walk every day. It has almost become a ritual for me. 

A dilapidated house at its centre, the trees around it cutting off the sunlight that can barely make it to the rooms inside, it does nothing to enhance the beauty of the place. The beauty lies in the mango tree, its canopy spreading over many smaller plants, the jackfruit tree with its innumerable branches reaching out to the smaller trees growing far away from its root and the coconut trees standing tall which all lend a special charm to this nondescript piece of land.

The memory of the serenity of the area pulls me, as if with a magnetic force, and I get impatient for the rain to stop. I notice that the drizzle has turned into a steady downpour with the wind getting stronger every minute. Dark clouds gathering up in the sky send down sure signs of the rain continuing unabated as I give up hope of keeping my appointment with my special place. Vexed, I go back to my reading table. Restlessness prevents me from focusing on my book when I am suddenly reminded of a write-up in a newspaper that spoke about visits to special places and re-visiting them by imagining that one is really there to re-live those golden moments.

I try the trick and I am soon transported there, gazing at the trees, plants and flowers. A cuckoo greets me cooing when another bird joins it with a sweet warbling call. A squirrel scurries up the thick trunk of the banyan tree. Behind the towering eucalyptus trees, the thick smoky clouds come sailing over the white ones and slowly cover up a small patch of blue sky The elegant slender deodars lean towards me as I smile back admiringly. My eyes come to rest on a huge thick log lying on the grass. Two pigeons fly down from somewhere and sit on it for a chat. A cat passes by the log. The birds can’t care less. They have wings - wings that can save them, wings that can take them where they want to be.

I too am where I wanted to be - my special place. I have kept my tryst with the deodars and the sky there, with the help of my love for my favourite haunt and my imagination – my wings.

If there is one thing I could leave behind for my children, it would be my wings.

The message......

“You don’t need the curtains, really!”

The message......

Sweeping through the tangle of branches
peacefully came the cool breeze
Soaked in colours the dawning sky,
with rising sun, peeped thru’ the trees

One tree wore dusty brown branches
Carrying new leaves glowing with sheen
It towered over its neighbour
As it touched the blue sky with its green

The other stood with younger branches
Its light green leaves a few inches away
The two gladly gave each other company
thru’ each silent night and day

Watching the sun drench the two
with its strong golden light
I sat enjoying their green beauty
when I spotted in one, at a height

A raven that sat almost still
Against the green, its black stood out bold
Motionless it was, without a sound
feathers and wings glowed in the afternoon gold
when suddenly appeared another raven
its calls renting the air
Excitedly the two exchanged stories
as they kept flying here and there

Gleefully flitted about the duo
as they sent down the tree a few shivers
rattling the branches, shaking the leaves
creating waves travelling in rivers

Briefly breaking the afternoon silence
The two friends took flight
Just as I thought I was all alone
The butterflies came within sight

Thru’ the branches and the leaves
the pretty things explored in and out
Weren’t they hunting for flowers in them?
Blissful, spreading bliss, no doubt

Lighting up the trees with
bright yellow in each wing
they fluttered about in joy
when came the bees buzzing

Flying in twos and threes
They looked for daily nectar
The butterflies gave them company
As I looked on from afar

For long moments they went about
Flying and buzzing, buzzing and flying
As the sun came slowly climbing down
“I’m blessed to be here”, I was sighing

A sweet music floated down
Spreading happiness like never before
Slowly the cuckoo stilled as twilight crept in
Leaving me hungering for more

I missed the caws and chirps
For sundown ‘twas, bringing in quiet and peace
And I went to draw my balcony curtains
When my eyes again fell on the trees

“Why do you want to keep us out?” asked a voice
from the thick dark foliage
“You don’t need the curtains, really!”
Slow and silent came their message.

Gift for God

Once upon a time there lived a woman with her husband and their son. She earned good money with the help of her education and was proud to be a regular contributor to the family income, often showering her son with toys and chocolates and whatever he wanted except ample amount of time that he craved for. The little boy felt very lonely sometimes, his grandparents from both sides who came down to be with him, loving him and caring for him, but unable to fill the void in his life. So he asked his mother for a baby he could play with. She thought of her career and she thought of her son’s loneliness. A year later, the boy got a baby sister.

Happy that her family was complete now, the mother now focused on her work again. God came in her dream one day and asked “Where is my gift?” “I didn’t know you ever needed a gift”, she replied in consternation. “OK, we’ll talk about my gift later. Tell me about gifts that you have given anybody till now.” The reply came readily “I have earned pots of money for my family. I have gifted my son with a sister he longed for. I buy this and that for my parents. I gift my friends on their birthdays and colleagues too.” There were a lot of I’s in her spontaneous answer. God listened patiently and simply said “But that’s all because of your job which is again because of your education. If you didn’t have an education or a job, what could you gift?” She couldn’t imagine herself without education or a job, nor could she imagine any gift that could be bought without money. She said finally “I need time.” But God had vanished by then.

Years passed. God appeared again. “Sorry God. I got so busy with this and that.” God smiled kindly and left. The woman was now doing well in her field. She bought herself and others lots of gifts. She spent her leisure time in shopping malls. Life tasted sweeter than ever. And suddenly she thought of the gift God had asked for. God didn’t need money. What could she get for Him that He didn’t have enough? It flashed to her one morning when she was sipping tea in the balcony.

Her life changed. She got aware of the service she had been getting from people around – her housemaid, her cook, her driver, her gardener, her car cleaner. They were born poor. She gave them money; they gave her service – it was a give-and-take. What if they all had enough money, what if everybody had money and there was none to do those jobs? She thanked God. She took their service and added a smile to the salary she paid to each of them. God came in her dream once again and she immediately said “Thank you, God.” And then He replied “I got my gift. Thank you.” He left feeling richer. At least one had gifted Him with gratitude.

Friend or Foe?

‘Twas not a great day
Cares with me I did carry
So I set out for a walk
But a demon didn’t let me be free

Drops of sunshine slip off the leaves
Intoxicated with a sudden joy, I cry, “Oh! This ego!
Thief you are! Stealing my peace?!"
and I ask, "How dare you bother me so?!”

“How dare YOU say so?!" I hear!
"For it’s you who chose to carry me around!
Cast me away and just move on
Only then peace will be found!”

"So farewell to you, my long-time friend
For you make old ties meet sudden end!"
I was sad, but am glad now that I left behind far
my ego, for it is a deadly disease, my dear!

Search for your dreams…….

Under the green-and-brown tree I sat

The late afternoon sun has lazily cast

Its long shadow beside me

That gives me fine company

A light breeze……and my eyes have closed

Ah! I wish I could dream, I thought as I dozed……

 The silvery moon spreading a soft light

The twinkling stars bringing in the night

I thought of the bird in the tree sleeping

Did it have a dream in its wing?

 A few leaves fell and as they fell

It looked like the tree had a story to tell….

 I sat still, very still, waiting to hear;

The branches and leaves all came near

“We are all here on the tree

But the leaves down there you see

A while ago with us they were
Not knowing it would soon all get over
And till the last moment
Long after the sun had set
They sat very complacent
Thinking they would always be up here…..”

Didn’t they have any dreams? I wonder!

They had ample time for it

Are they now full of regret?

Under the soil they’ll soon disappear

Or the breeze will take them somewhere far

Never to come back, never again to this tree…

……………………………………………………….

Life is very precious

But we’re in a constant rush
To our dreams we say “Hush!”

So spread your wings and hurry

A dream your wings will carry

What if wide awake I always kept

And did everything perfect
Never letting my wings fly
and let my dream sigh and die?

A colorless life is that

Where morning to night
For the money we work
Then in glory we soak

Uncaring for the bird and her song

For the day is always so long
Uncaring for the music in the wind chime
For fear of slipping behind and losing time

You’re not alone my friend, do not fear

Many like you are yonder
Some a little lost, some little unsure

“Am I running too fast, too far?”
Perhaps at times they wonder!

Time becomes wings, time flies by

Time becomes wings, my dreams will never die.

………………………….

To search for a meaning in life

I dive deep into my mind
More dreams keep cocooning there
I’m now sure with time wings they’ll find…..

Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy seemed to permanently vanish into thin air had it not been for my little daughter

This article featured in The New Indian Express Saturday, when I had newly stumbled upon my long-lost love - writing!!

Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy were visiting us all the while when recently all of a sudden they seemed to permanently vanish into thin air, well almost, had it not been for my little daughter………….

It is the time of the year again when there is goodwill and cheer around. Blue sky without a hint of grey and the golden sunshine raise the spirits of one and all. The deciduous trees have begun shedding off their year-long green attire while many of them are already standing bare, shorn of their jewels. There is a nip in the air and the children move around wrapped in woollens, without any cares. For the exams are far away. For the gifts are about to flow in. For Santa Claus is on his way……

My six-year old came in hopping, jubilant and restless. “I wish Santa gives something special this time too,” he chirped and then after a pause announced emphatically “I have been a good boy all through.” He was looking at me for an approving nod while I was thinking of the show of muscle power he had had the other day with his best friend. It had ended with the two exchanging blows and “We’re not friends any more” for the umpteenth time. I let bygones be bygones and instead of raking up the past I said gently “You need to wait till Christmas.”

Advaita went off trotting, his “Jingle bells, jingle bells” ringing in the air as he went down to the lawn. Two days to go, and Santa was not yet ready with “her” gifts. It has been me who has donned the role of secret Santa over the years. And over the years I have sought the help of Santa when uninteresting vegetables have to be stuffed into my son’s reluctant mouth, or he has to be sent off to bed at nine much against his wishes. “Santa visits only the good children with his stock” has been the year-long refrain. My little one has revolted over many matters and quite often Santa has come to my rescue. Now that Santa’s visit was round the corner, all my little promises to my son are flashing back to me. Fortunately, “Santa visits only the good boys, not the naughty ones”, “Santa has a notebook where disobedient children don’t feature.” and other mild threats were not taken lightly since where gifts are concerned, Advaita seldom took a chance His temper tantrums too plunge to a low in December.

As I went about the household chores, a thin voice rang out loud. “Is Santa Claus really there?” For a second I froze and then I peeped down from the balcony where I had been fussing over the big stocking that had to be dusted, for Christmas was nearing. Down in the lawn, my son sat in the midst of a group of children. The vital question hung in the air, but before long the one who had thrown it had been cornered by the faithful majority. “How did I receive my Beyblade?” my son questioned innocently. “And how did my crown come in our stocking?” a four-year old girl asked. “And who do you think will know that I love chocolates more than Beyblades and leave for me boxes of them every year? My parents dislike my eating chocolates, they would never do that.” This was from the group leader, a seven-year old. Under the deluge of questions that strongly supported Santa’s existence, “Is Santa Claus really there?” drowned quietly. I could not thank enough the little ones for their unshakeable faith in Santa. After all, apart from dropping gifts and spreading joy around, he has made my life a little less of a struggle, considering my six-year old is the least cooperative during mealtimes, excepting when Santa is remembered. I realize I’ll have to make a quick visit to the nearby store before it gets too late and fresh doubts about Santa spring up in Advaita’s mind. Every year, Santa has been filling up the stocking with the most interesting gifts and every year I have been introducing new vegetables in the menu during Christmas time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other day my son came in with a clouded face and knitted eyebrows. “Tell me a secret,” he almost whispered. As I waited, wondering what was coming my way, he blurted out “All this while, were YOU leaving the Christmas gifts in the stocking, not Santa Claus?”

Little Advaita is now nine years old.

The truth had to come out some day – I just hoped I had not gone overboard.

“And Tooth Fairy too never visited?!.....” He was barely audible by now. Was he disappointed? Was his world of Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy crumbling down too fast or too early? Was it the end of innocence for him? Would he ever enjoy the moral stories I spun for him when he went to bed in night, saying they were real-life incidents from Santa’s life?

As I stood unsure of what I should say, I wondered how many mothers in the world have been caught lying by their young children. But wait a minute. Had I been lying? Not really. I was no longer tongue-tied. The words flowed out effortlessly. “There is the world where we all live our life, which is there for everyone to see and then there is the imaginary world tucked away in the secret recesses of our minds where Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy keep visiting until we are ready to let them free for the younger children all over the world waiting for them.”

“Well Mom, I think you are right. But let not Diya know about this. Santa should keep showering her with gifts every year.” He was whispering again. In the next room, my little daughter was playing with the xylophone she had dug out of the stocking this Christmas, blissfully unaware of the conspiracy just hatched between her mother and brother. Five years on, she might come to me with an equally clouded face and the same questions. Will my reply be any different? Time will tell.