They though.

She was a mess (or so she thought?)-

Occupied, with the day to day hassles of nothing,

Oblivious, of her surroundings and chatter,

Overwhelmed, with the raging speed of her life,

Certain, that she had lost control and caught in the whirlpool around her!


They though,-

Smiled, even with an unannounced storm in their backyard every other day,

Cheered for her, even with raw throats and bigger agendas to chase,

Led her way, even with pounds of baggage tied to each of their legs,

Maestro-ed, their life, even with a bigger whirlpool around them!


This story, been told in many different words time and again,

Yet generations have seen the truth in it all the time.

They- her parents.

She- their DAUGHTER.





The Stall.

Black, brown, shades of blue,
Purple, yellow, all mixed in a glue,
That maze of rainbow, so bright and shiny,
I know, now you can see it too.

A tremble, a sigh, a jolt very hard,
A gasp, a pat, those feelings so soft.
A thump, a slap, a mush of snow,
I know, you just felt all those too.

A rhyme, some rhythm, a tune, some humming,
A twirl, a twist and half a skip,
The miss of a beat, a wink, a blush,
I know, you feel your cheeks warm too.

A maze, a mess, sometimes both,

A road to glory, with roadblocks a-load.

All get them, they get them all,
This party of nuances always WORTH THE STALL!




That smile.

After a long hiatus, this blog still seems home. Continuing to cover ground with simple things that make me think, I’m back this time (hopefully for longer), with more tales and trails…


It made all the difference, the curves and angles

Of that smile!


Potentials unknown, and territories uncharted, wishful

Is that smile!


She walks a mile, and two will be covered

Just by that smile!


There may be quiet all around, but nothing as peaceful

As that smile!


Sometimes weak, enough to get her to work and bring life back

To that smile!


Its her glory, her goal, her cherished desire, her pride-

All of it, yes THAT SMILE.




That day Anita came back from school, all drenched in sweat, and with a face matching the red that her eyes were, and ran straight to her room. Her mother, imagining the worst but hoping that it wasn’t so, customarily laid down the table with Anita’s close- to- favorite dishes, for lunch.

Ten minutes later, a cleaner Anita appeared at the lunch table, washed and scrubbed in a white cotton dress now, as if having made truce with whatever it was, that had happened in the first half that day. They both sat down for lunch, and silently started eating. The mother patiently (though getting a little impatient with the each passing minute) waited for an explanation to the latest events, but Anita gave none. Exactly ten minutes later, Anita finished her lunch and headed back to her room, not a word exchanged since her return from school. Now the mother knew that something was seriously wrong, when the usually chatty Anita had not spoken a single word in the last one hour since her return from school. On a paper, she scribbled a note and slid it under Anita’s door, and went for her afternoon nap.

The evening saw Anita running out for her play time, a jolly and happy girl, as if nothing at all had happened to disturb her. Later in the day she had discussed it all with her mother, sorted out the unhappy, and started yet another eventful challenging next day.

Today, when Anita is now a young entrepreneur with lots of things to scare her and tire her zeal, all she does is read that note her ma had slid under the door that day(now framed on her wall) and re-gains her strength:

“Life doesn’t happen on its own, whatever it is that bothers you today, is either a consequence of your letting it happen, or of your letting something else happen. Whatever it is, take ownership, fight it back, and be the promising strong lady I am raising you to be ~ Always there to hear you, Ma”

– Stuti

With her, always.

A simple word in a dictionary,

And the vocabulary taught to a child,

I am there in a section not so prominent,

And yet not hidden from the eye.


No one adorns me with pride, no one shows me off,

Some get scared at my sight, to most I’m no delight.

Yet they miss me when I am not around,

And start saying stories of ghosts and spirits, ugh!


The promising follower of the teacher,

The disciple who would not leave sight of his master.

Some say I am in love with her,

Some think I simply haunt.


Me, I exist because she does,

Me, I go everywhere with her.

Me, I have no smile and no tears,

Me, HER SHADOW, always so dark, and yet SO CLEAR!


– Stuti

Then, when and now.

He asked her this and that, more than just often,
And she was eager to respond.
She waited for the questions in fact,
And at times even pushed through some of her own!
The equation, a mystery,
Or maybe not one, existed since inception it seemed.

For reasons unknown, and in seasons unseen,
He noticed a change in the green,
He still asked too many, she just wouldn’t reply,
A nod, a shaking of head, a lie (very sly?).
Sometimes, a cover to something,
Sometimes, a partial blind to hide,
Maybe also sometimes ignorance, but to him,
A different ‘her’, her enthusiasm somehow dried.

Is it her, or is it him, he wonders,
Maybe both, he concludes, but definitely more than that simply!
What has happened is, ‘life’,
And its whims airy!
He still wonders where the string snapped, and she still doesn’t reply so much,
Their stories go on, and so does their trysts with trust.
Both hold on to their sides,
Hoping they are not being misunderstood.
Knowing something somewhere is not right, he waits for ‘life’ to show her the way,
There has to be one, THERE HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY!

– Stuti

The speck of something.

That speck of something,
A not-so-existent, yet all-time-there, mysterious ‘that’.
When for the first time, she had found it, not by chance,
She was actually made to discover it,
A trait bundled up and hidden so well, eyeing for a release.

She was very proud of it,
They applauded her for it too.
It was a verve, a passion, some say,
A gift, an art, a brainer, everything,
And yet, just a speck of invisible!

She looks for it again, not believing it is gone,
This time probing the world for ideas and leads.
She doesn’t know where to look for it,
Or even what it is that will be the answer,

– Stuti

That evening on the road.

It must be running late for somewhere,
Or maybe wanted to be there a little bit early?
That big red SUV, as if out to show its colour and rage,
Inching forward bit by bit, hoping for each second it could make.

On the other side of the road, this girl, a brunette,
Patiently or not, waiting for her green on the signal.
More than one thoughts swimming in her head, probing for a permutation of answers,
Possibilities of counters, mentally making note of what all to get.

Another two minutes and a half, phew!
Happened a green light, readying her to race back home to her sweet happy.
When interrupting her thoughts right there out of nowhere,
Came that snarling red monster, shyly trying to cross the road before a red.

What happened next is best not described, but a wife did not reach home with the milk and bread,
And a red SUV, now blue and black, was at the garage next day.
It sees all that, standing tall and high, there on that crossroad, sometimes red, often orange and then green,
Unable to speak but guiding them all nonetheless, that old pillar they ignore, that only object on the road, NOT IN A HURRY.

– Stuti