The Old Man and the Tree

In a corner of the shady garden

All by itself it stood,

Bare of foliage or flowers,

Just a gnarled piece of wood.

Too deep in the soil

Were embedded it’s roots,

So they just let it be there

Forgotten, of no use.

All around the garden grew

With weeded lawns and seeded beds,

Painted fences, watered plants,

Blooming flowers and the shapely hedge.

But no one looked at the crooked stump,

Much less even gave it a glance,

Till the old man visited one day,

Stumbled upon it perchance.

“You are old and bent like me,

Do you have a story to share?

Like me have you lived a rich life?

To each other our hearts we could bare.

Thus saying he sat down beside it,

Around the stump his arm did lay,

Put his ear close to the warm wood,

“I’m listening”, he said, “have your say.”

From a distance the gardeners smiled

At the sight of the old man and the tree,

And thinking the old man senile

Decided to just let them be.

Then when the shadows grew longer

To the corner they made their way,

Gently helped the old man to his feet,

Led him indoors, lest he stagger or sway.

That night by the glowing lamplight

Words swirling around in his head,

The old man sat down and wrote

All to him that the tree had said.

It was a long, long time ago,

I was just a few feet tall,

 Slender branches, tender young leaves,

Not yet mature, just green and small.

Everyone took care of me,

Guided my branches as they grew,

A fence of sorts kept away the dog,

In the noon I had water, at night the dew.

With love and utmost care

And the warmth of the brilliant sun,

I grew up tall and strong,

A haven for birds, bees, everyone.

They all came flocking to me,

Morning, noon and night,

To play amongst my branches,

Sometimes to just behold my sight.

And when I sprouted blossoms

Pretty, fresh, whitish, blooms,

They loved me all the more,

 And for the bees I was a boon.

They kept a loving eye on me,

As the blossoms turned to fruit,

Smiled with joy at the ripe globes

To their heart’s content they did loot.

My trunk had loving scars so many

As they etched and drew and scratched,

I have heard their deepest thoughts

In my shade when they have sat.

While on my boughs have hung

Braided ropes with swinging seats,

I have felt the warmth and softness

The climbing by little feet.

But as the years soon passed,

 Little ones the nest had flown,

The swing hung limp and broken,

From my branches the leaves all shorn.

My fruit lay scattered and rotting,

 No one to pick and choose,

Those yellow globes that had once been

Relished by all, none could refuse.

My bark was made a scratching post

By the dog who had his day,

Then the woodworm too attacked my roots

And I began to decay.

Now I lie here, all spent and sad,

And think back to those years,

When I had all and all loved me,

And there was no time for tears.

All I ask is a hand on my trunk

While I slowly breathe my last,

Hearts that thank me for all I’ve been,

Tell me, is that too much to ask?

With tears flowing down his cheeks he wrote,

The sad story of the dying tree,

And then he penned the epilogue,

We share the same story, the tree and me.

WOMAN

She has scaled the mountains,

And orbited the earth,

Trekked in treacherous land,

Gritted her teeth in childbirth.

Touched down safely on runways,

Walked the ramp, tall and confident,

And stormed the male bastions

In sport of stamina and strength.

She has made the rules and laws,

Worn her badges and crowns with pride,

Hiding no more behind veils and tears,

Challenged the world with her stride.

Those arms that soothe a baby,

 Juggle between workplace and home,

Nurse the sick and heal the broken,

Of her kind are millions….she’s not alone.

So gear up, get ready, dear ol’ world,

This is the Woman of the new age,

Accept her, praise her, emulate her,

And……#BeBoldForChange.

Hands that speak

Hands That Speak

Brown, wrinkled, lined hands

Hands with callouses …. Used hands!

Rough, worn and knobbly hands

Hands that are resting ….. Tired hands

They were once smooth

And soft to touch,

With gleaming tips

And rings and such,

Held up for a waltz

Or out for a shake,

Or holding aloft wineglass and cake.

If eyes are the mirror

Of one’s soul,

Its hands that speak

Of the family role.

They softly caressed fevered brows,

And gently wiped a running nose,

They plaited braids & polished shoes,

And tightened bows which became loose.

Those hands they were that washed the pans,

And kept the house all spic & span,

Arranged the flowers in a pretty vase,

In the garden pulled out weeds n grass.

Those hands were magic

That kneaded the dough,

And dished out cookies,

Cakes, puddings and more.

They bandaged knees,

Sewed a button or two,

Found things that were lost,

Helped with projects few.

They clasped and led

Through difficult days,

And soothed and calmed,

And even mended ways.

And lovingly placed a trophy or two,

Up on the shelf, with pride so true.

And when the children

Flew the nest,

Those hands they were

That did their best,

To hide the signs of tears in eyes,

Turn the leaves of an album

and stifle sighs.

Now those tired hands are

Folded in prayer,

Placing all her children

In His loving care,

Long & hard they worked forever,

They are the hands that speak…

The hands of our mother.

Facebook Characters....Which one are you?

                

*THE RIP VAN WINKLE CHARACTER (OWLS)

They sleep most of the time, then suddenly one day they wake up and go into a frenzy…'Liking’ every post and digging deep into a friend's wall. They resurrect long lost, ‘best forgotten’ photos. And you begin wondering why everyone has suddenly started ‘liking’ a picture of yours posted in AD 2005 with that weird outfit and hideous hairstyle.

# They bring in that element of surprise to Facebook.

*THE FAITHFULS (BULBULS)

They don’t post anything by themselves or about themselves. But they faithfully ‘like’ and ‘comment’ on every post of every friend.

#They keep Facebook alive.

*THE SHARERS (CUCKOOS)

They love to share nests….errr posts. They usually don’t share much about themselves. The shared posts keep friends active. You need to type “Amen”, you need to click on links, you need to share it yourself in order to see what it is….

# They keep Facebook active and a happening place to be in.

*THE “HAPPY TO BE ME” ONES (SWANS)

They are genuinely so happy with themselves and their families that they can’t stop proclaiming it to the fb world….through selfies and pictures of themselves and their families…..what they ate, where they went, what they saw, what they wore, what they bought….

They spread their joy.

# They make Facebook a happy place.

*THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS (CROWS)

They follow their friends, read all posts, see all uploaded pictures, know what their friends are doing, wearing, eating, writing, posting, sharing….

But they leave no footprints behind. No ‘likes’, no ‘comments’…..they are the silent ones.

# They don’t really add much to Facebook…..except to the number in your friend list.

*THE HOBBYISTS( HENS)

They are busy almost every day with their hobbies….Nature lovers, poets, writers, photographers, cooks. They share their writings and pictures of birds, butterflies, flowers, food… (whether you like it or not). Then they impatiently wait for their ‘faithful friends’ to ‘like’ and ‘comment’.

#They are the artistic face of facebook.

*THE DUMPERS ( PEACOCKS)

They literally dump about 78 pictures every now and then, leaving behind a colourful graffiti on their walls. They are happy go lucky souls and have no expectations from their friends. Whether you see all the pictures and ‘like’ them or ‘love’ them or don’t even see them, it doesn’t matter. They will soon return with 78 more after some time.

# They bring the element of ‘beauty with freedom of choice’ to Facebook.

*THE GROUPIES ( GEESE)

They get together with friends, have reunions, go for movies, hang out in malls….and ask hapless shoppers to click pictures of the group. The main purpose of the event (apart from having fun) is to post pictures, tag friends and check in.

These are very informative posts if you look beyond the smiling, pouting faces. In the background you can see which movie is currently screening at INOX, which Shoppers Stop outlet has a sale and which food court offers the best combo meal.

#  They are the Page 4 guys. They bring the juicy, gossipy news to Facebook.

*THE MET FOLKS (SWALLOWS)

They are the weather forecasters, giving out alerts of fog, cloud, sunshine or rain. So anyone travelling to their city knows whether to pack in a sweater or an umbrella in the suitcase. The alerts are usually accompanied by pictures of dense clouds or tall glasses of iced drinks or steaming mugs of chai or screenshots of the Met departments’ Weather Today update.

# They bring in everyday reality to Facebook.

THE JET SETTERS ( ARCTIC TERNS)

These are the travellers….and everyone knows exactly where they are at any given moment. They check into airports, they check into hotels, they check in on Facebook…..though not necessarily in that order. If it’s a holiday trip with family, then friends accompany them too….though only on the virtual trip. However if it’s a business trip, then there are no pictures….only check-in’s ( Great way to let spouse and immediate family know where they are…..one can’t always get connected on phone……but free Wifi is almost always available).

 #They are proof that Facebook has no geographical boundaries

THE NOVICES ( FLEDGLINGS)

They are the newcomers, still getting the hang of Facebook. They declare their mobile phone numbers, landline numbers and other personal data on their walls (and ask you for yours too). They wish Happy Birthday to a friend without tagging him/her…..so the whole FB world knows it is someone’s birthday except the untagged birthday boy/girl.

They haven’t heard of Facebook messenger….they ask you on your wall whether you’ve quite recovered from your upset tummy after last week’s prawn dinner fiasco.

# They ensure the continuity of Facebook as a popular social media.

I have exhausted my knowledge of Facebook characters……and I must add that I possess quite a few of these traits myself.

Have I missed out any character?

(If you aren’t one or more of these, then you aren’t addicted to Facebook)

P S.

I’ve likened the characters to birds for the simple reason that I am a bird lover. A brief description of bird trait will tell you why a particular character is like that bird.

1     OWLS - Sleep a lot, especially when others are awake.

2      BULBULS - Sweet in voice as well as in nature.

3      CUCKOOS - Love sharing nests.

4      SWANS - They are a symbol of love and joy.

5      CROWS - They keep a watchful eye on visitors to and from your home.

6      HENS - Busy, busy, busy the whole day clucking and pecking ( clicking and penning)

7      GEESE - Always move in flocks.

8      PEACOCKS - Have beautiful feathers and love showing them to everyone.

9      SWALLOWS - They read the weather perfectly…know where to find sunny skies.

1     ARCTIC TERNS- Long distance champions. They migrate further than any other bird.

1     FLEDGLINGS - They are young ones of all of the above….you don’t know what they will be when they grow up.

Indian Summer

Beads of sweat 

Trickle down his brow,

The sun overhead,

The farmer at his plough.

Naked children run out,

Jump into near dry pond,

Splash precious drops on black hides

As tails swat flies around.

Brown birds trail the plough

Peck at earth upturned,

Willing the parched soil to dislodge

 A seed or a worm.

Hot breeze stirs dry leaves,

Dust swirls around, picks them up,

Goats nibble at dry stalks,

Bells tinkling as they walk.

The goatherd rests under a tree,

Dog and flute for company,

Tunes float in the hot dry noon,

The cuckoo calls out for the monsoon.

----****----

Making Memories

With the henna on her hands

Adding colour to her vows,

She crossed the threshold

Of her parents’ house. 

Turned back just once

To catch a glimpse,

Of the house that was home

From birth and ever since.

Looked fondly at the room

Many a meal where shared,

Amidst laughter and banter

 And the breaking of bread.

And beyond to the place

Whence aromas wafted out,

As loving hands crafted dishes

For ever hungry mouths.

There was the den

Many a game was played,

Wherein pawns were lost

But the Queen was saved.

Where the paint splattered table

If talk it could,

Told of artwork and projects

And names scratched on wood.

Beyond was that corner

Pencilled marks on the wall,

Were a silent reminder

Of children growing tall.

That spot on the sofa

For Dad they always kept,

As he pored o’er the paper

For Mom, the crossword left.

Those pictures on the wall

Loving moments shared,

And milestones celebrated

With a family that cared.

The tree through the window

Yellow flowers now in bloom,

Creating dappled shade

On the bed in her room.

The bed where she dreamed

Many a dream of this day,

As the posters on the wall

Smiled down as she lay.

Was that the ragged cushion?

Many tears it had soaked

And been flung at each other

With her brother as she fought.

That corner on the rug

The patch worn threadbare,

As Timmy walked in circles

Before settling himself there.

On the shelf the coffee mug

“Dear Daughter” writ on it,

Who would drink from it now?

She would surely be missed.

Her gaze moved around

As memories she absorbed,

Till she could see no more

Her tears her vision blurred.

A hand on her shoulder

As Mom wiped away her tears,

“This home gave you memories,

Now you go make yours." 

-----******-----

Breaking Free.....The Dandelion story

A mid morning Zephyr

Blew through the fall grass,

And poof! Free from the scape

The downy tuft was airborne at last.

It hung around over the weeds

In the breeze now not strong enough,

Teasing the dry yellow flowers

And hundreds of tiny seeded puffs.

Then as if to mock them from above

It danced around lazily in the air,

Then rode the cool friendly gust

Free now…..to go anywhere.

Just ahead was the children’s park

Little ones chasing a purple ball,

A dog unleashed, burrowing head into

Brown, red, yellow leaves of fall.

Spying the puff floating near them

Tiny fingers reached out to catch,

Jumping up in glee to reach

But it blew high ,beyond their grasp.

A break in the gust

And down the seeded puff came

On to Rusty’s cold black nose,

Aatischoo! And it was airborne again.

Up towards the clear blue sky

Sunlight glinting ‘tween the trees,

Floated down to the bedecked gazebo

Satin hearts festooned in the trellis.

Where bride and groom to exchange vows

Among Pastor and friends stood in bower,

There the fairy descended and lay

In the bridal bouquet among the flowers.

Delighted, eyes shining , she pick’d it up,

Placed gently in her palm, blew away,

Silently her heart echoed the thought,

“Make my wish come true some day.”

 And once again in the air, blowball

On a breath of air flew hither and yon,

Towards the school near the town hall,

In thru the window of a class going on.

“Oh look, Ma’am, A dandelion clock,

Blow on it , tell us time of day.”

Excited giggles and attempts to touch,

But it swirled out of reach and blew away.

Carried away on the cool noon breeze

It floated above the red roof tops,

Out to the meadow where it met

Hundreds of floating, fluffy, white tufts.

Fairies sent forth by the ‘dent de lion’

A message to go spread, blossom and bloom,

Some caught in webs, some drown in streams,

Some crackle in the blaze of a bonfire at noon.

And as the sun sets in crimson skies,

Heavy now with the night time dew

The seeded tufts descend to the earth,

To begin once again life’s circle anew.

-------*******------