The house

it wasn't the biggest of bungalows you would find, neither was it exclusively located. it was inconspicuously placed in the industrial town of Kanpur. it didn't have any spectacular beauty around it nor was it set in a place of natural endowments.
though it may sund drab and colourless, for me it had the most heavenly things within. the house was built by my maternal grandfather and till recently had a weather beaten and grand look. every moment spent in that house was special. as a toddler i would lovingly refer to the house as 'my palace'.
every thing about the house fascinated me. the house had a variety of plants and trees that my grandparents had so lovingly planted. the old mango tree in the back garden looked over the house and seemed to tell birds stories. the smaller bushes were cooler playgrounds for the insects and squirrels squeaked in delight as they clamboured over the guava tree.
summer nights in the house were so enchanting, sitting in the garden savouring the balmy breeze, listening to evening prayers in the distance.
the house had a spirit, which would pull me every year towards it. even daily chores would seem fun! in the winters, the delicious sunlight would dance in every corner of the house, from one lawn to the other, streaming in through the windows and lighting up the windows. with the shifting rays, we too would shift to enjoy every moment.
winter evenings were filled with the warmth and smell of a slow burning coal fire and sumptious food. the house commanded respect and had a magnetism which pulled me year after year. it was more than just bricks and cement, we spun many fond memories, enjoyed every day.
but with time things change, my grandparents left the house to live close to us in Delhi due to many practical reasons. we were inwardly upset but did not show it. our grandparents were even more upset, they had built it with their own hands. forme it was like leaving a family member behind. i had heated arguments with my mother, but soon realised the validity of her reason.
it all happened in a blur and my grandparents came to live in Delhi.
time has passed but memories remain. even now when i talk to grandparents, somewhere in the midst of our conversations, the memories come out. even now when i sit idle, i go into a world of cherished memories. time coagulates and i can see everything clearly in my mind's eye. that is when i wish i could go back, to 'my palace', the heaven, the dream and relive every memory, every moment..

Rain

mere drops of water drop from the sky,
but human connotations are much too high.
rain of sheer delight and ecstacy,
drops of enigma and mystery.
cooling, soothing and satiating,
or boring, obnoxious and irritating?
different moods, feelings and interpretations,
of tiny drops falling from the heavens.
like tears of relief and satisfaction,
like a smile of accepting a vision,
pearls of blessings,
or stones of curses?
what is it?
everything in life is seen,
like a raindrop or a beam.
everything good, everything bad,
everything happy, everything sad.
the rain comes dancing down to earth,
giving abundance to dearth,
and despair to abundance.
but its aim is joy and bliss,
not to leave earth without a complete journey,
same for humans,
one's food, anothers poison,
one's sunrise, other's sunset,
one's springtime, other's winter,
one's bllom, another's wither.
the rain is symbolic of life's events,
it may be unwanted or godsend,
but in the final and true bargain,
the rain remains the rain..

Colours

blacks, whites, greens and blues,
colours af sadness, colours of gloom.
they are so inexplicable,
yet are avoided
colours of joy, reds, pinks and yellows,
they are so bold and yet so mellow.
orange respected, black dejected,
red accepted, why is it so?
that colours can change expressions of a place,
moods of the soul, reactions on the face.
the lightness of a yellow,
the depth of a blue.
colours we can see through.
solemnity of a white,
blackness of the night,
all change our lives so often,
some colours harden, some soften.
the richness of a shade,
depends on not how it is made,
but how is it looked upon.