Small Things#20 – Treasures on Mother’s Day

Little gestures of love – a word here, a kiss there, laborious touch of paint, wonderful whiff of dandelion’s scent, naughty feet imprint, moving words in print, small arms around my neck, sweet and lovely cheek peck, heart lit in a blue bottle, everything so vibrant and yet so subtle…

…These are my incredible, cherished treasures this Mother’s day, created by my kids! I am sure you are making memories too if you are or have a mom. Both ways, a big and happy Mother’s Day❤️

वो कलाकार!

मुट्ठी भर मिट्टी उठाकर

दिया एक शिशु आकार

दिव्य रूप, आलौकीक मुख देख

स्वयं चकित था कलाकार!

उमंग भरी हास्य रेखाओं से

किया उस आकृति को परिपूर्ण

कुछ गुलाबी कुछ सुर्ख़ लालिमा से

गढ़ी उसकी ओढ़नी रंगीन!

कुछ क्षण में फिर मचला

उस आवारा कलाकार का मन

फेर बदल कर प्रतिमा में

और भी सुंदर सजाया तन!

अब आयी तेज़ दूपहरि,

लगी कुम्हलाने उसकी कला

परिवर्तित हुआ रूप यौवन का

धीरे धीरे वो शरीर ढला

तब अनुभव रेखाओं की बारी आयी

उससे किया चेहरे को अंकित

सीधी, तीरछि, लम्बी, छोटी

उनमें कहानियाँ थीं अनगिनत!

साँझ आयी, फिर अँधेरा घिर आया

भीग उठे प्रतिमा के नयन,

उसे देख एक पल ठिठका वो

पर नहीं पिघला उस कलाकार का मन!

मिला कर वापस मूर्ति को मिट्टी में,

उस कहानी का किया अंत,

और फिर डेरा डंडा उठा वो,

स्थितप्रज्ञ चला इक नूतन पथ!

Dear Friends,

I wanted to write in Hindi for a long time now. And I am so happy to have finally written this poem. With the grace of God, I can write in both Hindi and English with equal flair. Infact, initially I was a better writer in Hindi. I was the proud recipient of Rashtra bhasha gaurav (National Language Pride) back in my High school days. And many of my Hindi works have been awarded . I have written a famous Hindi teleplay too. But after I became a journalist (English) I stopped using written Hindi. But I am adamant to revive it and get my flair back.

This poem is dedicated to the supreme kalakar or artist, God. And how He is so unaffected while creating and destroying His creations. How He starts by creating a baby, then shaping her into a beauty, after that adding maturity to her form and finally destroying her when her part in this world is over. Hope you all like my first Hindi poem on WordPress.

Mrs Nobody

I know a funny little woman,

As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done,

In my humble house!

Oh, how she loves to scatter things,

When I’m on a cleaning spree.

And makes sure the phone rings,

To watch me harrowed, with glee!

She makes the utensils jump down,

From the cupboards up overhead,

Startling my new guests in town,

Who rush to save my head.

She likes to haunt my closets too,

And ransacks it into a mess.

Therefore, It’s a terrible woe,

To find a fine, decent dress!

The monster laundry glares at me,

For she piles it high and mighty!

And makes sure I’m never free

To blog or chat away idly!

She drops hair and stains the kitchen,

For me to clean and fix.

Oh how I curse the naughty vixen,

But she loves her little tricks.

As I try to make the chapati round,

She leaves the tap running.

At times, I hear the alarm’s sound,

And rush to see what’s burning!

I don’t know how she does that,

But the house key goes missing,

Whenever we have to go out,

For some fun and fishing.

Despite, all the trouble folks,

I kinda love the dear lady.

She sure knows how to make us laugh,

And things often end in comedy.

“Oh, o, you must be better organized,”

Remarks my loving Honey,

But he doesn’t believe when I say,

“It isn’t me, it’s MRS NOBODY.”

(Inspired by the great poem – Mr Nobody, one of my favorites, written by an anonymous poet. Do you also have a Mrs Nobody in your house?)

Images courtesy Google

The Sound of One Hand

If you have sensitive ears, this post is for you! While reading Rajneesh Osho’s ‘The Book of Secrets’ in which he discusses around 112 techniques to meditate, I came across a wonderful story – The Sound of One Hand. I can not help sharing it!

The master of Kennin temple was Mokurai, Silent Thunder. He had a little protege, Toyo, who was around twelve years old. Toyo used to run errands for the master and everyday he would observe seekers visit the master’s room to receive instruction in sanzen or personal guidance in which they were given koans to stop mind-wandering.

Toyo wished to do the same so one day, he put his head at the master’s feet and asked him for a Koan. 

Mokurai refused initially but the child insisted, so the teacher finally consented.

Mokurai said – “Try to hear the sound of one hand. And when you have heard it, then come and tell me.”

Toyo bowed and went to his room. He tried and tried to listen to the sound of one hand but all he could hear was the music of the geishas, coming theough the window. “Ah, I have it!” he thought.

The next evening, when his teacher asked him about the sound of one hand, Toyo began to play the music of the geishas.
“No, no,” said Mokurai. “That will never do. That is not the sound of one hand. You’ve not got it at all.”

Toyo did not give up, every now and then he would find some sound but the master would object -“This is also not it. Go on trying, go on trying.”

Then one day, the boy didn’t come. The master waited and waited, and finally told his disciples to find Toyo. They found him sitting under a tree, absorbed – just like a newborn Buddha. They returned and told the master – “But we are afraid to disturb the boy. He is looking just like a newborn Buddha. It seems he has heard the sound.”

So, the master came, put his head at the boy’s feet and asked him, “Have you heard? It seems you have heard.” Toyo had entered true meditation and transcended all sounds. “I could collect no more,” the boy said, “so I reached the soundless sound.”


Osho goes on to explain as to what had happened to the boy, “The boy had tried since he was a simple boy and had complete faith in his master. Actually, there is no sound of one hand, but just an indirect method to create sensitivity, awareness. And one day, suddenly, everything disappeared for him. He was so attentive that only attention was there, so sensitive that only sensitivity was there, so aware – not of something, but simply aware! 

This is a method to make you very delicately aware of the subtle nuances of sound. Center on the word ‘aum’ – a-u-m without any a or m. Just the u remains. You have to intone aum and feel it in three different sounds. Gradually, you will forget ‘aum’. Not only a and m will drop but there will be a state of soundlessness! The state of bliss!”

Images courtesy google

The Poetry of Earth is not dead yet!

As we drove into the gorgeous Arboretum, one of the top visitor attractions of Minnesota, US, my heart skipped a beat. It was a beautiful sunny day to explore gardens, sculptures, woodlands, walkways and trails. 


Smell, touch, feel, sights and sounds of nature filled our senses as all shades of green interspersed with colours dominated the landscape. Minnesota is more than glorious in Summers after savage and challenging winters, it is stunning!


Such sublime sights always inspires poetry in a lover of literature. Therefore, I couldn’t help chanting some famous lines by great nature poets.

Do check out the pictures, dear confidantes, and may be you can recite the poetic lines too…


When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging down…. Robert Frost


Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung, A virgin scene!–A little while I stood… William Wordsworth


Never mind silent fields— Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been… Emily Dickinson


Yet, if you enter the woods, Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ring’d pools ,Where the otter whistles his mate… Rudyard Kipling


Hot midsummer’s petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tune, Telling of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers… RW Emerson

The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run, From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead… John Keats


I couldn’t help thinking as we took the exit to Arboretum that nature still dwells in some places on Earth. It hasn’t taken leave of mankind as yet!