An idea, a thought, an anecdote, a story or a poem a day!

  A place that was home, that street that held my world! Neera   A place that was home, that home that was my world Is still somewhere as I left it!   I can still see that street of seven houses where my childhood is still clinging to each door, or hanging with my mother’s   washing soaking in the sun, and floating in the wind. That massi, that Raju’s daadi that noisy and nosey auntie Patialan with four kids sitting on the sill shelling peas and shouting comments, that I hear still!   I hear my friends playing in the street As I topple the seven shiny tiles with my rubber ball and running away madly and they chasing me all Calling "Pithoo pithoo pithoo", I can still hear and the sun is still setting and my mother’s still calling me home!   I can still feel the rush that I felt Can smell the almond fragrance that I smelt And strange desires like unknown neighbours, where met me at every nook and c...

Squirming, from the vantage point from where I could see everything, I wanted to stop her.  Using one of  the hand carved rails of my canopy, I wanted to throw the whole thing down before she could say, 'yes'; but I couldn't, as I could never hurt her. As it was no guarantee that the canopy would fall on him, the man trying to persuade her, and not at her, my frail Babli.  I was looking at her with all my love and annoyance at the same time, thinking,  "Why oh why, why doesn't she see, what he was doing, what he was getting her to do?"   She had always been delicate, not that she didn't have enough flesh on her bones, but it were her bones, that were the ones so light, paper like, making her a paper machine doll.  The first night, when she had come in the room, in her bridal attire, I had fallen head over heals in love.  It didn't matter who she was waiting for, and who would be sharing the saffron laced milk in the silver glass with her that nigh...