Dewy December

Whispering winds, tickling the ear,
Becalmly beckoning,
Wickedly wafting the scent of fresh green grass
Laced with drops of dew.
The early bird from its hidey-hole,
Quirkily quoting, welcoming words.
Barefoot, she walks out,
In a tranquil trance, eyes heavy with slumber.
A ray of light from the rising sun,
Touches her face, in a curious caress.
A wistful sigh, pierces the quiet,
As her serene smile at the snoozing snail
Lights up the sky.
She steps onto the grass, and squeals with pleasure,
Soaking her feet, in the diamond-like treasure.
Cadently cajoling, the cuckoo calls,
The mysterious mist in its hazy falls;
She wraps her cloak tight around her,
Walks forward into the foggy maze,
Challenging it with eager eyes,
Answering the tempting tease.

Beauty Found!

It has been ages since I last posted, and since I was not doing anything useful, I was looking around for an inspiration that would help me write. A lot of thoughts sprung into my mind, but while some were too dry topics, others would have been quite funny, yet embarrassing for me. And then I was reminded of the inspiration that made me start this blog in the first place. Finding beauty!

I thus started recalling the moments when I have truly appreciated beauty in the past. A pretty face, some gorgeous dress, a sexy shoe? Naah! Too skin-deep and materialistic!

A serene sun-set, cold wind blowing autumn leaves, sun-rise on a beach, dew-drops glowing like diamonds on grass blades? Well, Keats, Frost and Shakespeare beat me to it! Damn!

Well then Beauty, what exactly are you, so effective and powerful, that you could turn a Beast into a man?!

It was becoming frustrating. I was almost about to change the name of my blog, when I remembered how I felt when I saw my mother who hates dogs, slowly warm up to our little fur-ball; tentative and nervous at first, but when the little Devil decided to chase its own tail round and round, the burst of joyful laughter that escaped her mouth was a thing of Beauty. 

I remembered when in the mid of a tiring day, our clerk took pity on me and escorted me to the canteen for a cup of coffee, and insisted on paying for it himself. Well, that smile on the old man's face was a thing of Beauty. 

I remembered when I was returning home the other day, and there was a van full of noisy school children that wouldn't let me pass, and on top of it, one kid opened his water-bottle and emptied it along the road, spraying me a little. I was about to make a rude face at the irritating kid, when I was suddenly transported back 15 years ago, when I used to empty my water-bottle while returning from school to hide the fact that I forgot to drink it! My lips out of their own accord formed a smile at that kid. And he smiled back with the so familiar guilty look, and that moment was a thing of Beauty!

Beauty is an all-encompassing thing that is formed by kindness, generosity, honesty, faithfulness, modesty. It is present all around us. All we need to do is find the thing of Beauty and it truly will become a joy for ever.

…But You Cannot Deny He's Got Style

Out of the many things that intimidate us, Fashion is the scariest. Every few years, you come across new terminologies (from either the latest MTV shows or the legions of teenagers our Prime Minister boasts of), like fashion diva, style icon, fashionista, chic, trendy, celeb and woe betide you if you get them wrong or utter one that is out-dated! 

Fashion is a living, pulsating thing; ever-changing and ever-growing. It is not to be under-estimated. Everyone knows the power of being well-groomed and keeping up appearances. All of us, each on a different level, try to embrace fashion, that we perceive as the latest. But alas! The harder you try, the more wanting you are found to be. And no amount of poring over Elle, Vogue or other fashion magazines help. 

As if the umpteen brands and kinds of clothes were not enough, you have to have the perfect sunglasses, watches, jewellery, scarves, shoes and bags. Not to mention the cosmetics and fragrances! And don't forget the broad categorisations of office wear, casual wear, party wear, holiday wear, slumber wear, and the list goes on.

And Attitude! With a T instead of a 'chh'! Attitude is the focal point on which the glamour world rotates. Heaven forbid, if you find yourself amidst young ladies conversing about bottoms and pants, and you innocently let it slip that you don't have any idea what 'palazzos' are, the sneers and smirks with which the girls will describe it for you, is called Attitude. Attitude is laced with a crude sense of superiority. Like a diamond cuts diamond, Attitude can only be cut with Attitude! So when the meaning of palazzo is described to you in detail, the only way you can save yourself from gaining a reputation of having a bad fashion sense and your level of knowledge from being questioned, is by holding your head high, straightening your shoulders, conjuring a sneer and stating, "Who wears those these days? Its so out of fashion." And lo and behold! Suddenly you have the upper hand, and your place is secured! 

What is to be noted is that fashion is present in normal, every-day topics of conversations; flattery (Ooo, is that a Tarun Tahiliani?! I love that watch on you!), bitchy (Look at her hair style, kitni gawaar lag rai hai!), showing-off (I just bought that Prada wallet we checked out last week, they go so well with my Gucci shoes), knowledgable (Do you know who are judging the Global Fashion Awards 2015?), naughty (Dude, Sherlyn Chopra has posed for the cover of Playboy!). I mean, it is ever-present and inescapable!

But no matter how much time, money and effort goes into perfecting your final outfit, there will always be an opinion that will differ, sometimes to the point of cruelty. Fashion is as difficult, or perhaps more difficult a subject than others, for it is an Art. Simple statements like 'the colour is too loud', or 'not everyone can carry this style', might merely hurt our feelings, but they also have the power to make or break careers across the world. Fashion critics are the harshest and most difficult to please. You can only imagine the fate of the person or stylist being labelled as a 'fashion disaster'! And when one knows next to nothing on the subject, all one can do is admire the passion and perseverance with which the professionals continue their work, and fervently hope to improve someday. Battle on!

Ramblings Of A Young Ghost

I died day before yesterday. Uh huh, not to worry! Or fear (I am friendly)! I am absolutely fine! Great, in fact. Excited. After all, I am a really young Ghost. N-no, I am not an adolescent or even a young adult. When I was alive, I was actually a 70 year old half-senile old lady. But as a Ghost, I am only two days old. And I am still hung in the limbo, awaiting my turn to watch the mysteries unfold (whatever they might be). However, what I am really bothered about, is what I have left behind. 

When I am not making friends with the other Ghosts my age, I sometimes go down to Earth to float  lazily above the building that I once called home (as I can only do this for a few more days), but what I see down there, worries me. As I hover over my house like an invisible spirit, I watch my grandson cry himself off to sleep on an empty stomach. I watch my grand-daughter getting consumed with the guilt of not spending more time with me while I was alive. I watch my daughters looking lost and stricken, trying to blink back tears and put on brave faces. I watch my daughter-in-law, tired and exhausted, valiantly following the rites and customs to the letter. I watch my son, stiff with shock, as if still not sure that his mother is no more. I watch my sons-in-law, managing the funeral and handling the guests.  I watch my old husband, helpless and broken, trying to get in a few words as his children and grandchildren hustle about, taking charge. 

My little family has surrounded itself with friends and relatives. They offer condolences, advice and keep my children distracted. But my family still mourns. They feel like nothing would ever be the same again. They still feel the pain of watching me suffer. They keep on thinking if they could have done something more. If they could have possibly helped in any other manner. Such fools! I watch them suffer and think to myself, 'Have I taught them nothing?'. 

I wish I could go back one last time to shake them by their shoulders and shout at them to get a grip on themselves. That I could show them how beautiful life is. That I could let them know that I am at peace. That all they need to do is love, live, dream and believe. That nothing is their fault. That the dead never truly leave them. That we are all One. 

But I cannot. One of life's greatest irony is that we understand Life, only after it ends. However, I am not completely useless. There is something that I can still do. There has to be some advantage of being a Ghost, right! I smile mischievously. I use my Ghostly powers to increase my speed befitting a youngling, and blow the still air along with me. And as the wind rushes to do my bidding, I direct it to my grand-daughter's book-shelf that shakes and throws out her favourite book to land at her feet. I giggle as she jumps and looks around. I tweak my Ghost-finger to waft the wind again, fluttering the pages of the book to find the right one. I smile, satisfied when my grand-daughter picks it up, knowing she would find what I want her to read. That done, my duties as a young ghost ends, and I gear up in anticipation of what lies ahead.

Like Dumbledore once said to Harry, "After all, to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure." 

A Choice Is All That It Takes

Most of us (some on a regular basis) have gone through what is called a 'bad day at work'. Its one of those days, where everything that could possibly go wrong, goes wrong. And just when you emerge out of the work building, after fighting battle after battle to right every wrong, finally feeling that nothing worse can happen, you see that your bike is jammed from every side, by thoughtless people who have parked their vehicles in a manner that no amount of clever manoeuvring could help. 

It is at this moment that tears of frustration threaten to gush out, helplessness creeps in, and you feel sorry for yourself for not having the strength of men to lift and drag the bikes. So you take deep breaths so as not to let the unshed tears escape, utter a few choice swear words (that you pretend to frown upon when your boyfriend says them), turn on your lady charm (just enough to trigger the protective instinct of passers-by), and ask for help. And while prettily thanking the good samaritan for rescuing your bike, try and tame the roaring lioness shrieking 'feminism' within you, and accept the fact and there are some things that you just can't do. 

It will be difficult. As you ride away and the cool wind brushes through your hair, you let the tears fall. You let the tears fall for every obstacle that was thrown your way. You let the tears fall for the difficulty in getting through each passing day. You let the tears fall for the desperate need of sympathy you feel. You let the tears fall for the guilt of that one passing thought where you wished you had been born a guy. And you let the tears fall for the dirt and pollution ruining your skin and beautiful hair. Because it is okay. 

And just when you are nearing your home and you think of the household work you still have to do, instead of soaking in bathing salts in a jacuzzi, you steel yourself. You realise that you always have a choice. You can either continue thinking about these trivial issues and vent it out by ranting and raving at some loved one, or you can let it go. And when you park your bike at home, and take off your helmet, there are no trace of tears or tiredness. You enter your home with a smile. And you pass on that infectious smile to those you love. 

That is when you realise the worth of being a woman. That is when you realise you are beautiful. That is when you realise the insurmountable strength God has bestowed you with. And that is when you realise you are proud to be a woman.