तुम हो

तुम हो तो मैं हूँ

तुम वज़ह हो
की ज़िन्दगी कभी
बात मान भी लेती है

तुम उम्मीद हो
की मैं ज़िन्दगी को
पकड़े रहने का
सोच भी लेती हूँ

तुम हो तो मैं हूँ

तुम मतलब हो
बेतुकी शब्दों को
जोड़े रखने का

तुम वजूद हो
रिश्तों को एक ही
सतह पे रखने का

तुम हो तो मैं हूँ

P.S As my daughter turns three today, this is what I wanted to say her. Someday, I hope she reads.


Passing on the Legacy : The Nose chapter

She had a short, almost flat nose.

Family joke goes as, it is because she always buried her face into some or the other books. Nose pressed again pages. Another deduction for her flat nose was, it always buried under her big glasses.With every passing year, the thickness of her glasses kept increasing, causing more flattening of her nose. She was the poster girl of thick rimmed, red, rectangular glasses.
Even her old friend added to her nose saga, saying she should never wear a nathni, people will be curious to find the hole between her two eyes.
Her father often defended her, “It is her big kohled eyes that makes her nose look relatively small, otherwise it is pretty much of perfect size.”. Nose was the first feature people recognized in her face, for the awkwardness it carried.

She, the tiny nose bearer, always smiled warmly to cover up for her nose. Years went off, her tiny nose kept carrying her broken self pride. Nose being always out of sight body part, helped her looking for better things about her.

She met a guy, who adored her eyes and smile. Kept the nose,out of the converstation, safely and puposely.
They got married, and hence many noses kept poking in, that helped her further to forget about her own tiny nose.

Akwardness comes in life, while connecting dots from past. For a purpose, she felt.
The first time she felt so, when she gave birth to an adorable daughter. Milky skin and silky hair. Tiny arms soft as cotton. Big eyes and perfect cheeck lines. Nice red lips and a tiny nose.

It rained


It rained.


It rained on the glass pane

drops sliding against the surface

like tears rolling down the cheeks.


It rained on the tin roof top

in a slow rhythm

like a old man’s heart beat.


It rained on the yellow leaf

which may fall tomorrow,

the droplets stayed back

like wishes before death.


It rained on the moment that passed by.

It rained on the moment that stayed by.

Snapshot Of A Moment

She snatched the memories too close to her,

woven in a silky string of delicate relations.

It slipped, broke and beads were all scattered

She could hear the twang and beads jumping on the floor.

Disorganized, random memories making abstract picture.

Some memories were on focus. Clear, bright and visible.

Rest were hazy, trying to escape through the memory lane.

Together, they were snapshot of a moment.

The month that February is

February is a funny month. Smallest of all and spoilt with love.

This is the month of the year when we fill bunch of balloons with much warmth, tie them with love, let the string of relationship hanging beneath and release the balloon high in the sky.

We bring everyone to our backyard, pointing the balloon waving high and tell them.. see “love is in the air” !
A month before, that same love was hanging in the lampshade in our living room. A month later it may again finds it way decorating the dining table. But, February is the month when love between each other, takes a narrow lane and ran in the field to participate in collaborative love display to be visible to the outer world.

There is this lady who was excited enough to participate in the world love marathon few years back. She used to love it when bunch of red roses used to arrive at her doorstep on that specified day of February… but then, she loved it even more when the same bunch appeared for no reasons on May. Then on June and July. February since that year seems an obligatory month to her. She knew him well by December to know that obligation.
She married that guy few Februaries later, in month of November. They had a baby in September two years later.

The following 14th February was very important to them; it was the vaccination date for their kid.
The whole day they played the parent-parent game perfectly well. Hugging and kissing the kid now and then. In between that, the kid often slipped out and they stood facing each other with about to kiss lips.

Later that night she asked him “You didn’t wish me today?”. He was unsure of the emotion to portray. No, he didn’t forget. To him it didn’t matter. He was afraid though; what-if the lady is anticipating some celebrations? What if it matters to her?
The lady (with a sarcastic smile) knew what is going on in his head. That was her intention when she started this game. That was the reason why she asked that question. She wanted to see that glimpse of confusion.
That confusion was love. Not an obligatory one, though. Love out of fear. Love surviving in folds of parenthood.

Love that had two to start and three to sustain.

Love that had survived the stinking phase of dirty diapers. Love that has taken turns to put the baby in sleep. Love that smelled like baby powder. Love that always looked like cartoon faces.
February there after never popped out of the calendar. It stayed where it belonged to, with several other months.

Having kid helped them to release the obligation. They found it quite okay not to let the balloons free in the air. Rather tie it close to their baby’s cot. Being uncool was perfectly okay for them while basking in the glory of parenthood.
.. and February, it continued to be a funny month.

This post was originally published by Parentous .

The Surrender Key

I was neck deep into my laptop. Had a deadline to meet. The two year old appeared. Crawled into my lap and snatched my palms into her tiny hands. Gave me an ear to ear grin, said in a pleading tone “Maam.. tigger dekhna hai mujhe.. blue tigger..”. Thought for a while and rephrased “no..no.. elephantta.. green elephantta”.

The very important mail slipped silently into the draft stage awaiting its turn when kid would go back to sleep and new tab on browser started opening with Google images of blue tiger, green elephants, pink frogs, purple lions…
I surrendered that moment to her wish. Many times before, several times after.

“To surrender” is a ritual we parents practice every moment. Its a sly art that we master along our journey to parenthood. Surrender is that bargain that instantly puts us on winning mode. Had I not surrendered to those absurd color animals I would not never seen those twinkling eyes. I would not have felt winner without winning.

We parents have an instinct to see the silver lining much before we surrender. We define new terms and phrases as we keep surrendering.
When I can’t further deal with the mess my overactive kid keeps producing, I surrender saying “A mess today is a memory tomorrow”.

With crayons, stacking rings, plastic alphabets and building blocks doing rounds in the house, I am left with no choice but to enjoy it. I redefine happiness, using that same mess. I freeze the mess in a frame and add a caption that “Happiness comes in many colors, mostly vibrant. Its messy in nature and smells like baby powder”.

Happiness comes in many colors!

Surrender adds dimension. Many people also call it creativity.
Surrender brings leisure. Many people mistake it for laziness.

How much to surrender is the tricky bit, but the more you surrender for harmless moments, better you are prepared to bargain for the big show. Keep giving many small measures and your kid will surprise you surrendering to your bigger bet. These moments of surrendering will concrete the trust, building hope.

We surrender out of compulsion, choice or for a change. But whenever we surrender, it is our decision. Hence the strength.
So often, mother surrenders to herself. Just the moment before reaching the breaking point, surrender allows us to confide. A warm, protective shelter much like mother’s womb. Surrender makes us stronger. Every mother knows that trick.

We surrender our priorities, routine, sleep, diet and even foul words. Last being the most toughest.
Surrender is that shaker that gives a nice shake to the things that once mattered, bringing a new blend of things that brings happiness. Sometimes you have to add chocolate toppings, though.

We surrender our past, as present demands that. We surrender our present, as future keeps calling. We surrender like we are born to do so. We wear it on our sleeves, we tie it like bandana, sometimes we flaunt it like the new silk skirt.

Wrap surrender the way you wish, it will certainly bring the warmth back.

P.S : This post was originally posted by Parentous.