Travel..

1.           We, in Mumbai, measure distance in units of time. Ask an average Mumbaikar, "How far is is point A from B?" and pat will come the reply," By bus it will take about an hour and by train just 10 minutes." Trains are our life line, they are the fastest means to travel in the city of dreams. We are all averse to travelling in packed trains and yet, given a choice, we would travel in 10 minutes rather than take an hour of bus ride. We measure distance in  units of time for the same reason. In Mumbai, time is one commodity that no one seems to have!

                                   
                                         
         Wondering how so many of them will get into the train? You have to see it to believe it!

          My day starts with catching a bus to the station. Luckily, I live close to the first stop and manage to get a seat and this journey isn't much taxing.
       
          I catch the early morning ladies special usually. Initially, they were just faces and then they became people you know just by their faces. You know them by their destinations, you know them by their choices, you know them by the books they read on train, you know them by the way they fight for little reasons, you know them by the music they listen to. It becomes a community. Slowly, you start getting chocolates on their birthdays, exchange recipes with them, talk about shopping, discuss your college or work problems! It becomes a bond that is just as simple as being a travel partner.
     
        I specially love the nine days of Navratri when the entire city follows the color code. In ladies special, it is a festival that is celebrated with must gusto. Almost everyone sticks to the color and you feel oddly included in a sense of unity, a comradeship..

       There are days when I give ladies special a miss or it gives me a miss and I have to catch another train. I travel at between 8 and 9 am and recognize many faces that travel at the same time.

Like the ridiculously dressed aunty ( seriously who wears all bright yellow clothes and 2 sunflowers in the hair?)
Like the aunty who matches every thing to perfectness. I wonder how she finds so much time to dress up!
Like the girl who waits with her man for the train. Every day they wait in silence and part with a slight hug.
Like the girl who just went to Hongkong for her honeymoon and came back with a bag full of footwear :P
Like the aunty who somehow misses watching Bade acche lagte hai and asks everyone "Kya hua kal" :D

     I love travelling in trains in the noon. It is that time when many vendors come to sell their goods, mostly accessories and painting books and toys. It is fun to search through the stuff and buy them cheap ( You can buy a pair or earring for 10 bucks which you would otherwise buy in malls for 10 fold the amount!)

    The evening trains are very hectic. The college and office crowd usually get into fights. The frustrations of all day are taken out of petty issues. It is like they deal with their stress by shouting at each other! For some, the physical activity drains the body of any irritation and you just go home and eat like a zombie and sleep.

    It has been more than an  hour that I m back and still I m flopped in front of my laptop, unwilling to move my muscles that are exhausted by hanging on to the handles of the train!
    For me travel is all about moving ahead, with your thoughts occupying you, a picturesque flipping in front of your eyes. That picture can be of beauty of just your fellow humans and their emotions.. It is the process of learning while you are passing..

    What is travel for you readers?

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th - 14th December 2013. Today's prompt is travel. 

   

Music on my mind

            What do I know of music? I thought to myself when I read the topic. Of all the extra curricular things I was part of, music was never one! We had music period in primary school. Even though the music teacher always applauded my extra ordinary memory of lyrics and pronunciation of Marathi, she never did the same for my singing. I knew it then that I was not gifted with the voice I so wanted and I had no sense of sur and raag either!

            I grew up in a place where every morning I woke up to the loud filmy music played by young boys trying to woo the girl they had a crush on. Chehra hai ya chand khila hai, Bahut pyar karte hai tumko sanam were the favourites that I picked up from there.
            The first rains saw everyone coming out to get drenched and singing "Dhagala laagli kala" and "Ab ke saawan aise barse"
            Festivals were about collectively singing the Ganpati songs and 9 days of all night garba dance.

            14 years of my life I was completely isolated from English music. The only songs that I listened to where those that my school friends suggested. Sometimes they had to force me to listen, a habit that a few of them still have!

           From my early years, I have been more of a fan of lyrics. If the lyrics touch my heart, the song will remain with me. It is for this reason that I m a formidable competition in Antakshari. I remember all lyrics very well.. Being fond of dancing, music has been an essential part of my life. When I started training in classical dance, I realized how intricately a song is made. So many beats and little transitions that make a song so beautiful! It also started a new liking and appreciation for peppy beats and soon music became a stress buster for me.

          Music also has a vital role in memory building. It soothes the mind and makes it capable of retaining more information. That is the reason why we remember nursery rhymes so well!
         I used to listen to music every night before going to bed when I was in 10th grade. On some nights I tuned into radio and did my maths!
         I make some weird connection between a song and some disease state to remember my answers now :P
                                                       
         After I joined degree college, music became a routine. I catch 4 buses everyday and the bus ride time is dedicated to music.
                                                    
        My play list must haves are
       
        Pal Pal Pal Har Pal
        Naina Thag Lenge
        O saathi re from Omkara
        Ye hasi waadiya from Roja
        Lo shuru ab
     
        These are some of the songs that I listen to when it is cold outside and I have melted into the arms of my blanket.

       Monsoon favourites!
   Zara zara behekta hai
   Piya basanti re
   Ab ke saawan

      When I need energy to keep going !
       Chak de
     
      Some songs are such beautiful inspirations for my write up. I have written stories based on some lyrics..

      Of late there is a new variety of song that seems to get stuck on your mind with meaningless lyrics. These songs will stay for sometime but while they do, you keep repeating the same lines like crazy. Happens so many times with me these days!

     Gandi baat is top most on the list.
     Saadi ke fall sa
     Tera pyar hookah bar
     Pyar ki pungi baja ke

     The list is long and I breathe easy when there is a "Sawaar loon" or "Lahoo muh lag gaya" in midst of this chaos and ofcourse a good energetic, dance song like "Nagada"
   
     Hoping that the future sees less of Blue eyes songs and more of Piya re songs..

        I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th - 14th December 2013. Today's prompt is music. 

           

A girl who reads

                              

            This is just me!

            I was 8 years old when my mother first handed me a copy of Tinkle. She opened the world of Supandi, Shikari Shambu and I was fascinated with my book. I took it to school one day and was reading it when our class teacher saw me. She took my book as carrying other books was not allowed. She kept it in her cupboard. She was herself a great fan of Tinkle. She might have intended to return it to me after she finished reading but she never found time to go back to it. I was scared that she might scold me if I asked her to give it back. I was at fault after all! My first copy of tinkle continued to remain with her..

         I was discovering my talent for writing poetry and I had proclaimed that I would become a writer
( How wise we are as kids!). I was 11 that time when I decided that studies are a waste of time. My mother dinned sense into me and made me see that there was a wide world that I had not yet seen. I had to study, become wiser and then write! She started with the story of Shantanu that day. The next day she bought me a copy of Ramayana and Mahabharata. Thus started my journey..

        I got a library card when I was 13 and since then there is no looking back. 8 years of membership, book shopping, book borrowing and days and nights of living someone else's life is what I have had!

       The thrill of Sindbad's voyages
       The mystery in Nancy's life
       The amusing life of the famous five
       The bitter sweetness of the secret garden
       The wisdom of Tenali Raman and Birbal
     
       The moral dilemma of the Indian epics
       The change in Anne Frank's life
       The emotions of Chicken soup
       The social setting of To kill a mocking bird

       The dreamy notions of Mills and Boons
       The adrenaline rush with Sidney Sheldon
       The living on edge with Dan Brown
       Discovering law with John Grisham
       The wit of Jeffery Archer

       The love hate relation in Gone with the Wind
       The slow and mature drift of The Hungry Tide
       The endless tips of self help books
       The turmoil of The God of small things..

       The challenges of The Hunger Games
       The epic series of Harry Potter
       The power lust of Game of Thrones
       The life of Shantaram..
     

      There are just the transitions I have had since I started reading. I do not read much of non fiction, especially autobiographies but I have been inspired by I Dare which is about Kiran Bedi and of course Wings of Fire by Dr. A.P.J Abdul Kalam.


                                           
                                                                 My humble collection..

     After a series of disappointing books from Indian authors that soon followed Chetan Bhagat, I had given up reading such books. In recent years however, the scenario has changed. Here are a few books that made me change my view.

      The Rozabal Line by Ashwin Sanghi
      Chanakya's Chant by Ashwin Sanghi
      Maximum City by Suketu Mehta
      Six suspects by Vikas Swaroop
      The Shiva Triology by Amish Tripathi
      Jaya Mahabharat Devadutt Patanaik

      Do give these books a try if you have given up reading Indian Books.

      There are some books which are like old friends. You just have to open a page and you get to know them in a all new way. To kill a Mocking bird is one of those books for me. Every time I read it, I find something new!
      Another book that makes me feel that I know the characters like my family members is The Hungry Tide. I cannot explain why I like to read it again and again. There is so much to know in that book.
   
      There are a few books that remain in my mind for a long, long time and you don't want to read it again for the sheer emotions that each page carried. The painted house by John Grisham is that book for me.

      Whenever someone asks me to suggest a book for reading, the first name I take is "Prisoner of birth" by Jeffery Archer. The plot is so far the most intelligent one that I have come across!

      I m the girl who reads every day. You would find a paper back in my bag any day. I read while travelling in trains everyday and the book I m reading has often sparked conversations with my co-passengers. That's the best part about books, they not only are good friends but also introduce you to like minded people. I also believe that book readers are the best kind of people to have around because you can always gift them a good book and they will remember you for a life time besides saving you the confusion of gift purchasing!


The last thing I want to share
              
      Because they live multiple lives..
   
      I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th - 14th December 2013. Today's prompt is books. 

Food is forever

             There are two kinds of people. Those who eat to live and those who are fat  live to eat. You know it is going to be a never ending post when your ask the latter category to talk about food. I m already hungry even thinking of food and this post is going to be a torture on my already salivating senses. Alright, I wouldn't torture you all with the endless list of delicacies that are floating in my mind. Pinky promise!

             For me food is not just about satiating the little pouch inside my body. I have been a comfort eater for long now. My romance with food is for eternity! The answer to every problem is - Food. If I m depressed, I overcome it with the ever uplifting double trouble from Mad over Donuts.
                                   
                                     

Trust me it is more alluring after a bad exam or a torturous lab day! 

            I associate a lot of memories with food. I never felt happy having an ice cream the way I am when it is the Ideal gadbad or dilkush in Mangalore. Every time we visit Mangalore I have to eat it. The whole purpose of going to Mangalore is defeated otherwise. Yes, I have tried other outlets that serve these icecreams but nothing beats Ideal! 

                              

Satiating, isn't it? 

            I love Sundays at home. Waking up with the aroma of steamed idlis and coconut chutney makes the day so special. Contrary to what others think, South Indians do not make idli and dosas every day. When we make it, it has to turn out perfect! 

                                                

            The sunday lunches become all the more fun with the mouth watering Kori rotti (Chicken gravey and rice flakes). You have to taste it once if you are a non vegetarian. Absolute heaven! 

                                                

drooling big time! 

            I almost never eat fish outside. The reason being that I m used to the spicy, marinated fish fries made at home. My dad is very passionate about his fish and it has kind of rubbed off on me. The fresh, juicy fishes marinated with the perfect paste and fried... You can't have enough of it! 

                                          

           I have a sweet tooth (which is obvious, isn't it?) and I love Bengali sweets. However I reserve this sweet for very special occasions. It my favourite sweet- Malai sandwich. 

                                                

No one can eat just one! 

           Food is not all about the rich, exotic or the delicacies. Sometimes, it just a warm bowl of Manchow soup that does wonders for that cold. Waiting for Mumbai to become slightly cold :P 

                                            

       Those days when you come home all hungry after struggling in the train and a plate of hot dal rice with a little pick seems the best meal you can ever have! 

                                                

                                               

      I purposely didn't get started on all the above foods in detail (trust me  you would have pages and pages to read) but I hope the images would make you crave for them! 

     All images are courtesy google. If I had known I would be doing this post, I would have clicked some of them myself, considering that I had most of them in the last week :D 

        I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th - 14th December 2013. Today's prompt is food. 

Memories

                                       


         Memories are like the pack of gems I so prized when I was a kid. I picked out my favorite color gems and kept it aside, to savor it all alone. They are that amazing albums stored in the drives of the mind that are accessible at your call. You only need to close your eyes and think of those times..
        The thing with memories is, you cannot separate the sad from the happy ones. You cannot simply delete those memories that make you cry, that make you cringe or that make you hate yourself. It is a double edged sword.

        There are some memories that make you smile to yourself and feel happy about all those wonderful moments you shared with someone. Then there are some that make you question, "What went wrong?"

        She was the only one who I could call BFF. It is another thing that when I knew her, I did not know that term.
        One day she walked behind me from the dance class. I was with my father and she did not speak to me. That day, as she told me much later, she decided she wanted to know me. I do not remember when exactly I became her friend. We were in primary school that time. She was two years my senior.

       Walking to the classes together was just the beginning of a friendship that lasted all through our growing years.
       Soon I began dropping at her home when I was bored. She visited my home as randomly. We gelled with each other's family. Birthdays, festivals, result days, every event included visiting each other.
     
       There were evenings when we went for walks or simply played carom at her house.
       There were afternoons when we talked for hours or watched a movie on TV.
       We talked about growing up, about parent problems, about crushes, about the raging hormones, about the insecurities of our changing bodies, of friends in our class.
       There were times when we explored R world on the reliance mobile she had at home. Yes, even searching the photographs of movie stars on phone was a thrill.
     
       Once we decided to cook at my house. I wasn't allowed to cook yet and she had mastered cooking already. We purchased potatoes, maggi and curd.
       I remember stealthily opening the door of my house while she was hiding the packets in the flower pot outside ( we did not want the neighbors to see).
       That day we fried the potatoes and had it with maggi noodles and washed it down with lassi made from the curd. Weird combination I know but we relished it.

      There were so many such crazy things we did. We never clicked pictures. We were just creating beautiful memories that did not need uploading on facebook (there was no facebook those days!)

     Her mother worked as a non teaching staff and could bring home the books from library. We weren't allowed to carry the books from library, we could just read it during the library period. Because of her mother I read a lot of books which we both discussed in depth.

     With time, the equation changed. She became occupied with her studies and responsibilities at home. I, on the other hand, had all the time in the world. I began to get bored. I could no longer meet her whenever I wanted. I had to call and ask if she could! I guess the tension started then. It was a time of change. For both of us. Both of us had our board exams and added to it, I shifted from that locality. The meetings became rare.

     I tried to bring that time back but it was not possible. The lack of communication from her side was eating me already. I think it was natural on my part to feel so. She was the only friend I could talk so freely about anything under the sun.
     One day she messaged me to call. I called back and I was excited to meet her. Instead she told me she was a bit busy. I was angry. I texted her, if she was so busy then why did she ask me to call? Next thing I knew, she was pissed about my behavior! Apparently her brother had read that text and had shown it to her mother and her mother had shouted at her.

     It wasn't my fault. She apologized later. I called her a few times after that. She had a few of my books with her.
   
     One day, she randomly came to my new home. I asked her to come inside but she kept the books on the sofa and told me that she could no longer keep the friendship. I tried to stop her but I did not know what had fallen over me!
     I went to her house that very day. She refused to talk to me. I asked her what the matter was but she simply told she cannot meet my expectations. She cannot meet or talk to me. I did not know what to answer to that!
     I kept on telling her that I would never ask her to call or meet. She could do as she wished but not to simply end it. She refused to budge from her stand.

    Many times I tried to talk to her but each time she was distant. I still don't know what prompted her to take such a decision.

    I have pressed myself enough times. Analysed the whole situation from every view possible. I cannot place a single incident that was responsible for this turn. My memories have been tested so much to point out one reason but I have failed to get it.

   After 2 years of this incident, she called me out of the blue. I convinced her to meet me.
   Things had changed drastically, for worse. I wish I could help her but I couldn't and I can't.
   She told me she had made the biggest mistake to break contact with me. She herself didn't know the reason. She told me she was just too stressed and her inability to keep up with my calls had made her upset.
Parting words she told  me were, " I wish I had you in my life. I wouldn't have made such a big mistake of my life."
Yes, she had done it all wrong. If only she had called me once before taking such a step, her life would have been different now. I promised her I would never tell what happened with her. I shall keep my promise.
Just as randomly as she had contacted me, she again cut off all contacts.

 There are some memories that paralyze a part of you. She is a memory that has made me incapable of having such close bond with anyone. Just the thought of being so close to someone and then being cut off makes me step back. I want to overcome the fear. I want to stop asking myself everytime, am I irritating the person I m talking to? I want to stop analyzing my words and altering it so that the other person does not feel I m demanding. I want to stop worrying about calling someone without sending a "can I call" text.

This post is just a beginning. At least I have brought myself to talk about this. A little step towards deleting the sad memories and smiling over the good ones..

Wherever you are, I miss you.

                                      


I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th - 14th December 2013. Today's prompt is memory/memories. 

The Gift of Life

                                 

       Darkness enveloped me. Darkness was inside me. I sat alone in the living room with the lights off. The darkness made no difference at all. All of my life was dark. I stared at the dim light emanating from the idol of Lord Ganesha. It was a gift from one of my close friends. Thinking of gifts, it suddenly dawned on me that I would be 24 in about half an hour. As if that would change anything in my life! The radium clock showed that it was 11.30 pm. In a different life, I would have been tossing in bed till the clock struck 12 and would be busy on phone till the wee hours. I had nocturnal friends and then there was him..
      Thinking of him was too painful. I contemplated drowning myself in the liquor bottle that was lying in the cupboard. There must be some relief in that intoxicating little bottle that made failures less stabbing. It was too much of an effort to even get up from the couch and I gave up on that idea. After all, what good was half an hour of numbness anyway. It would all end in some time. I was, after all, going to end my life.

     Getting over the temporary discomfort, I actually made myself a drink. The first sip was horrible. I had been a teetotaler all these years but what was the harm in trying it just before death. Who would judge me anyway? Even if they did, they had much to question than just this drink. Like how he left me despite my futile attempts to keep the relation working. I trained my mind to stop going further in that track.

    11.45, I felt the drink get to me. This was what it was all about. A head reeling with myriad images, a plethora of emotions that found no logic, a chest that warmed for battle.. This was what I needed.

    I heard the knock on the door. I peeped through the door to see Mrs Gomes. I opened the door. She stared at me in shock or disgust, I couldn't know. I hadn't changed my pyjamas since morning, I hadn't brushed my hair that was tied in a shabby knot, I had two dark pits for eyes and my cheeks had disappeared. She swallowed her initial reaction and smiled.
      "Dear, this came for you in morning. I forgot to give you" she said, handing me the parcel.
      I thanked her and shut the door.
      I had thought several times about my death but I did not think I would give Mrs Gomes the horror of seeing me last. Maybe the parcel came when I was staring listlessly out of the window and decided against jumping from it. I switched on the light of the room. I was surprised to see a parcel with my name on it.

     It did not have any other address. Who was this? None of my friends had ever sent me a parcel and none of them could actually plant it here. Who was I kidding, no one had talked to me in months. They have all conveniently moved on and forgotten me. Yes, the same person who they called and asked for every little thing, from last minute notes to what to wear on their dates! Could it be him? My heart skipped a beat. You fool he never did anything romantic while he was with you, what makes you think he will give you a surprise parcel? The inner voice mocked me. Yes, what did I expect? Him sending me a gift after our break up? He had left me a few months before we had planned to get married. He was probably married by now.

    I slowly opened the parcel. It had a letter inside the box. Fancy sending a box with a letter in it!
  "  I know you will end your life tonight. Just meet me once. Tomorrow sharp at 7 am.. National Park."
   
    Who was this person who knew what I would do? Why should I even listen to anyone. It is my life and I will decide the course of action. I did not come out of my own wish but I can go as I will! Why should I even wait to meet this person.
    What had this life given me anyway? Rejection, failure and hatred.

     7 am, is this person insane? Why national park? The decided time had already passed. It was 00:10 hr and I was already into my 24th birthday.

     That night, as I pulled the sheets over me, I wondered what I should wear to go to national park.

     I did not dare to check my mobile phone. I did not know what it would be. What if no one remembered to wish me? More than that I did not want family to wish me and make me weak. I was doing it as much for their sake as for mine.

     I dressed in a light blue jeans and black T-shirt, combed my thin hair and dabbed a little talcum. It looked human, the figure that stared back from the mirror. I did not know if I should wish myself Happy Birthday or cry over my misery.

     I paid the auto fare and walked to the main gate. It was still dark, winter nights were unusually darker this year. The guards looked at me uninterested. I took the entry ticket and strolled inside. I did not know what I expected but what I saw was unexpected.

    An elderly man with snowy white beard approached me. This hair was as white as his beard. He had soft eyes, the same colour as mine. His features were noble and there was an aura of peace around him. Dressed in a black suit, with two cups of warm coffee he smiled at me. He handed me a cup and gestured me to sit beside him on the bench.

    "You sent me the letter?" I asked, astounded.
    " You guessed it right." He sipped his coffee.
    I cupped mine and let the warmth comfort my frozen fingers. The first gulp of coffee made my insides feel better.
    " I gave you that." He remarked.
    "I know" I said awkwardly. Was I supposed to pay for it? I wondered to myself.
    "Not the coffee. That feeling."
    "You see that flower there?" He asked me pointing at the red rose that was swaying in the wind. The park was meticulously maintained and the gardener had begun to clean the wastes.
    "Yes.. It is beautiful."
    "What would happen if it just decided to fall?"
    "Umm... wouldn't matter much."
   "What if it was the only flower in the entire park?"
   " The park would be less beautiful."
   "But the rose decides anyway that it wants to fall. What would the gardener feel?"
   "Sad. He tended to that flower..It was unique" I stop mid way. Thinking of Mom.
 
    He stood up and walked. I followed him, even though he didn't ask me to.
    We reached the entrance of the bird park.
    "Stretch your hands on your sides and breathe" He said, doing the same.
    I stretched my hands and exhaled. The cold wind embraced me.
    "I gave you that."
    "See the birds flying above? I gave them wings. I gave you no wings but still you can fly."
    " Huh" I said, dumbfounded.
    " I gave you a mind that can soar higher than these birds."
 
    
   " I m a failure. I did nothing. No one wants me. He left me."
   He did not answer me. He walked away. I followed.

    He kept walking till the end of the road where the boating point was. He entered the boat and waited. I stepped in.
   The green water was still. The fish came in groups and fed on the plants. I was engrossed in their act.

    

  " Wouldn't it be ridiculous if they all tried to study your books and cry that they failed?"
  "They can't study!" I say, laughing at the comparison.
  " Because I didn't make them to study. Just like I didn't make you to study the subject you tried and failed."
  "Then why didn't you stop me?"
  "Do you see me stopping these fish?"
 " You could have sent me a signal. They say destiny takes you where you are meant to."
  "Did you listen to the signals I sent. The universe sent you messages but alas you were too busy with what others had to say. Do you remember the gut feel you had while choosing your subjects? Do you remember the times your love messages wouldn't get delivered to him and yet you tried so diligently?
"You should not have sent him in my life! After you did, you should have made him stay."
He laughed.
"You are such a kid. My wayward kid. You do as you please and then want me to set everything right."

"What is the point of living anyway. I m to die someday. Let me die now when I m tired of it." I m convinced that no one can help me.
I felt my body drifting off from the boat and I m atop the mountain. The caves surround me in all directions. My pulse is quickening and my ears are buzzing.
"You feel this pulse? You live to feel it."
I felt getting pushed and frantically try to find a support to prevent the fall. He held me right when I was on the verge of falling.
"You see the fight? You live to keep that fight alive."
I was faint from this activity. I leaned on the rocks.
"Feel the muscles ache? That's life within you.  Millions of cells and each cell having life within you."
I was panting.
" I gave you the warmth that surrounds you on cold nights
 I gave you the cold respites after sweltering summer
 I gave you the the spirit to fly and joy to swim
 I gave you the courage to fight and strength to last
 I gave you the butterflies of first love
 I gave you the long comforts of friendship
 I gave you the wisdom of books
 I gave you the company of noble family
 I gave you the legs that take you on long walks
 I gave you the heart that pumps relentlessly
 I gave you the eyes that see my beautiful world
 I gave lesser to many but I gave you all
so that you might live, my fallen angel.
 I gave you the gift of life."

          

I had tears in my eyes. It was not like I loved myself. I could just see myself through his eyes. Through my mother's eyes. Through my father's eyes. Death was not the choice..

"Who are you?" I asked him, knowing within the answer.
" I m the gardener that tended a rose that wanted to kill itself yesterday. I m life that you wanted to end yesterday. I m you that was to be finished yesterday. I m the force that didn't want to die."

I found myself walking towards home, happier and lighter. The woman selling flowers on the sidewalks was shouting out the price. I bought a bunch of roses. My first gift to myself. She smiled as I gave her the change.
"The roses look so alive again." She said. I heard the message this time. She had the same soft eyes.

My parents had returned back from a wedding they had gone to. I was happy to see them back.
"Did you get the parcel?" Mom asked.
"What parcel?"
"The one we sent yesterday. We didn't want to miss your birthday but weren't sure of the tickets so we sent you a gift." Dad explained.
I saw the opened gift box. I had taken out the letter last night. Did it have something else too?
A small silver idol of Lord Ganesha. It was too big to miss yesterday!!

I adored it. So this was whom I met. There was no hint of the letter.
"You look better now. The anti depressants are working." My mother lovingly brushed her hand on my head.
I noticed my parents had the same kind of eyes.

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

 

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