Waiting for the moments,
Touching the flowers,
Petals – pink and soft.
Breeze of breaths across.
In-
His garden green.
Waiting to hear the twitters,
Over the tree branches,
Little bird swinging them.
And playing with leaves.
In –
His Reality or Dream.
Waiting for the scent,
Of the blossoms,
Each morning fresh.
As the thousand roses around.
In – His Oasis in the way long.
————————————-
Picture Courtesy: http://artfiles.art.com
“Yashomati Maiya se Bole Nandalala..” as now I read these lines on Juneli’s blog, could not resist to write something down, that I thought to write one night.
One night like regular calls my sister Pinky gave me a missed call. And I called her back after few minutes. After picking up phone, instead of “Hello” she was singing “Yashomati Maiya se Bole Nanda Lala….” she have a good voice and that time her singing was touching the soul. I joined her. We both completed the whole song. Many a times with friends and family members duet I do join.
Once she finished the song, she said slowly “Sona slept just now” . Actually after singing the song, she was trying to get her son “Sona” sleep .
Unlike man, a woman has clearly few stages of life well defined, not for just herself, but for the Mankind. Before she was to be married, to many persons Baba had to give same repeated answer ” Lets see, we are searching for.. (her matching groom) !” Once she got married, and at the in-law’s house everything was fine. After one year being first daughter-in-law at house there was still a vaccum felt.
Again she dedicated her worries to God again. She was blessed with a child. When most of the persons at laws house are fair including my bro-in-law. And my sister is wheatish. Perhaps destiny has its own msyteries. The baby was born with the Mother’s complexion. So she felt that her in-laws may be disappointed a bit. She said her husband about her possible worry about in- laws.” Hey this is my son ! ” – said the proud father who took care for mother and baby of remaining more days at nursing home and still same today. This is one of the worries of a mother – duly evaporated by father in right manner.
Now seeing the baby sleeping, with the dreamy eyes of mother, she does sing to make herself happy -“Yashomati Maiya Se Bole Nandalala Radha Kyon Gori Main Kyon Kala……” for my little Krishna.
Last year, I was returning back to Bangalore. That was my second air-travel ever. The plane was getting ready for the landing. It was hovering on the morning sky. From ‘my’ seat no. 23-A, I looked down the earth, whole Bangalore city looked like a densely dotted grey painting just like Kolkata and Chennai cities.
The plane was getting down to the lower altitude.
The ‘Bangalore’ started looking like a more clear painting than before. The roads were clear, so did the lakes and small forests, and the buildings. I was searching for my locality area or some known big building –‘where do I belong?’ I could not locate them.
Within few minutes – the airport was clearly visible. I felt happy – yeah this is ‘our’ airport. The plane landed on the airport. To be exact, on the earth – where we creature do take birth, eat, sleep, defend, mate and die.
Though it’s different fact that from the Boeing-737, I came out as another man (like thousands of software engineers coming down daily on this airport). But I felt – “Yeah! I am an air traveler now onwards”.
At the airport, I took an auto rickshaw. Passing by the town roads, I was looking towards the corporate buildings, hundreds of flats, houses. Did each occupant feel them, as their own house? Does my house is like just one another one!
As my house was approaching – from distance, I saw – still it looked like a small building. My flower pots were looking like tiny cups. From there, flowers in the pots were not visible at all.
I reached my gate.
Nah! My Earth – My Bangalore – My Airport – My Area – My House – My flower pots and of course I, myself can’t be so small.
I came down the auto rickshaw – and placed the luggage in front of my gate. Paying the auto rickshaw fare, I opened the door of my house, and kept the luggage inside.
I was inside my house, even if it’s rented. I closed the door from inside – I encapsulated myself. The light green walls, the big doors – every thing big! The 2BHK house, neatly kept, well arranged. And to mention there was a big rose flower too in the pot. I was inside my own space – I felt big.
The higher the altitude, the boundary less space, I floated – I felt smaller. The smaller space I encapsulated – I felt bigger – Really Bigger.
Own space is must for each of us as well as the need of flying on higher altitude. Living in the both places, and in matter of myself, to ask honestly, which one I loved most – to feel smaller or to feel bigger?
I guess the former, when I did feel small – really small, inside the plane – floating like an elemental point on the higher altitude – leaving everything – at the mercy of the Almighty.
सुबह की शीतल किरण नहाकर,
आज नये एक गुलाबी चुनर में,
मंदिर जाती प्रिय सखियों संग,
देने उन चरणों में फिर अंजली ।
गेंदा गुलाब और चंपा – चमेली
रजनीगंधा की माला लेकर,
मन में वंदना के गीत गाकर,
बृजबाला ले चली कमल कली ।
रोली – चंदन फुल – दुब की,
हाथों में आज थाली सजाए,
मंदिर के घंटी में विभोर होती,
श्याम की अपनी एक मनचली ।
कहीं मंदिर के मृदंग थाप पर,
थिरकते कदमों के पदचाप पर,
मनमत्त होकर गाना चाहती,
मीरा की हृदय एक दोहावली ।
मंदिर के बंदनवार मे सजी,
सैकड़ो जलते दीपक के बीच
मेंहदी हाथों से दीए जलाकर,
ज्यों मना रही हो दीपावली ।
कहीं किसी मन के मंदिर,
भावों के पुष्प हाथों लेकर,
चुप बैठी आज मनन करती,
गोरी का मन एक गीतांजली ।
(P.S. : Thanks to Goggle image search for the picture. Credit being acknowledged to the respective owner of the same.)
Welcome to the world,
– The Baby !
Today mother feels,
A complete woman.
Today father feels,
A complete man.
As a son,
To bring smiles,
To parent-in-laws.
You have brought,
Challenges – first,
Never like today.
Hope dear Godly baby –
You have the answers !
But I am sure,
Baby – you are different,
Something different,
And you are special –
To follow –
My Dear Lucky !
Blessing you dear
Your lone Mama-
For more reasons,
That only my,
Last so many years know.
With my tears,
For Krishna’s feet,
From the inner core-
My dear,
This day is for You.
Beyond all relations,
Beyond expectations,
Beyond despairs.
I found as per hopes,
Again ‘the words’-
That paid me.
Recalling again
the words of Baba –
“As a tree, Bend down,
when fruits are there.”
And today,
The path is clear,
Yes, transparent.
I bend down,
With all my gratitude.
Ah! its again ‘Friday’,
And I found it.
Thanks for showing –
The Path again.
I am a puppet,
May be like you,
Decorated one,
On the roadshow.
Tied with strings,
Lifeless strings,
Invisible ones,
To give life in me.
Its our painted smile,
Nicely colored one,
Under the bright sun,
Puppets on roadside.
The masters smile,
When audience clap,
When they praise.
Strings we do play.
The masters feel proud,
As puppets look sound,
The masters feel sad,
When show goes bad.
We are the choice and,
Life of the masters,
Play of the masters,
Like you, I am a puppet.
Under our toy figures,
We feel love, but feared or shy.
Under their boxes, we do cry.
Our masters – tell us why ?
I know – our masters,
Why you all too cry,
When you feel helpless,
Under some supreme high.