Sweet Little Lies

A friend and I met after ages,
Hugs and smiles were initial exchanges,
She said-you look the same,
You too- I responded in the conversational train.

Meeting old friends is magical,
In a few hours, we can go back in time,
Recollecting old days is sweet and sentimental,
These trysts of shared memories is sublime.

Later, I thought of the sweet little lies.
That work great as breaking ice tries,
Our attempt is mutual feel good,
And nothing deeper to brood.

But, some words make me ponder,
Changes are inevitable in a decade,
Why do we want to stay the same-I wonder.
Or is sweet nostalgia-the game played.

I am now a woman- who was once a girl,
With life free of responsibilities,
She loved to dance, giggle and twirl,
Now, she manages home and work with precious abilities.

I have experienced and changed.
I do not feel or look the same.
I have my advancement embraced.
Desire to hold off against a natural tide is lame.

Age has given me many gift,
Perspective being a precious drift,
Calmness as an energy lift,
And conscious responsiveness-a personality thrift.

 

Sibling Bond

Sibling bond is special and unique,
With shared history of pleasure and pique,
Though relations change with time,
Fond remembrances remain of when it was prime.

So many memories of pranks and play,
I recall today, on your birthday,
Hiding grades from parents is just one,
Shared secrets of mischiefs are in ton.

Many incidents bring a chuckle to my face,
Those lazy summer days to brace,
When time moved at a slow pace,
Disagreements were rampant on people and place,

You were both my foe and friend,
Despite arguments that happened to no end,
Our common defense against parents,
Was like gutsy soldiers standing up against mighty tyrants.

There were no phones to give us company,
Our tech free childhood is our shared journey,
With board games, talks and an occasional outing,
We kept busy with outdoor play without parental scouting.

As we grow and have new relations in our fold,
Hope new bring you as much joy as old!

Passion for a Purpose

Passion for a purpose is a unique gift,
That can bring its bearers an unnamed lift,
The act itself- is to which you bow,
Its also to be in a state of flow.

Each of us have unique talents and skills.
Not all exist to pay the bills.
Trance worthy love for the act in itself is a reward,
As we have heard of many painter and bard.

How does one identify such a calling or cause?
That can make everything else go on a pause.
Is it inherited or inculcated?
How is it promoted and percolated?

The activity may not be rational to many,
It may not fetch you a precious penny,
But, absorption in the cause is unique from any.
Not all actions have to be clever or canny,

Lucky are those that can find such an emotion,
Dedicate their hours  and years with deep devotion,
Seeking and finding such a purpose is grace,
Indulging in perfecting it, is life’s purpose and pace.

Time Machine

Wardrobes don’t just house clothes,
They are a time machine that can bring forth,
Smiles, laughs and emotions in drove,
Some items are a treasure trove,

Recently, while rearranging dresses, tops and shorts,
I  recalled a shopping trip where we bought,
A dress for a prom an year,
And shoes to match the gear.

These reminiscences are not unique in their plot,
Yet, lived differently for each parent and tot.

A red coat that we together got,
Hangs in my closet with the lot,
Celebrated its 10th without a spot,
My teen had said-“this looks hot",

A deluge of memories of worn and wear,
Even amidst some torn and tear,
Makes ordinariness of life- special and dear,
And in hindsight without a peer.

So if you wonder, "does time truly fly?"
Isn’t it a relative phenomenon that goes by,
Open a drawer, a closet or a chest,
A find might open a memory door-the very best.

Letting Go

I remember as a child losing a favorite toy,
Nothing said could bring back the joy.
After tears, tenderness and time, I accepted the loss,
And learnt a vital lesson of acceptance and moving across.

Letting go is a complex art,
Attachments are like sweet and sour tart,
Detachment is not something for which we have a draft,
Yet, life and living demands that we embrace this craft.

Though generations before us have walked this path,
Yet, each individual is on one’s own swath.
Slowly we learn not all lost can be restored,
Sadness and sorrow have also to be endured.

Loosening some chords can cut sharper than a knife,
Yet, holding on is against the natural order of life.
Since losses in life are rampant and rife,
It does not help to put up a strife.

The sojourn of acceptance,
Is not bereft of inner agitation,
Can challenge many a disposition,
But eventually leads to affirmation and personal evolution.


Who Am I?

Someone new asked who are you?
Tell me more about you.
This question set me thinking,
More like  deep data linking.

I have varied identities,
And all are my realities.
There’s not one me,
But many in me.

Working from home has further complicated this equation,
Mishmash of tasks, duties and relations,
Sometimes within minutes I have to change roles,
And report with precision like someone on parole.

From work meetings to household chores,
The list miraculously grows evermore,
Everyday seems to be a delicate game of juggle,
I wonder if you also feel this struggle.

Mindset shift from a work problem to one at home,
Makes me feel going against human genome.
Our minds work best when we focus,
Not when we keep shifting our locus.

So to who are you?
Multiple answers are true.
A mother, a daughter, a writer, a sister, 
So many identities are in one me, mister.

Which one would you like to meet?
Each is unique-some a bit more sweet.

Talking

Inter generational conversations are an art,
Topics and exchanges are a discrete craft.
Older folks have a tendency to get preachy,
Younger ones loathe anything that too teachy.

Good conversationists find a middle ground,
To keep chats going around,
Is give and take necessary in every round?
For all to feel valued, without feeling bound.

One learns, good talks start with trust,
And are carried forth with shared interest(s).
Cemented with understanding multiple pretext(s),
And honoring mutual context(s).

Interactive dance of experience and youth,
Can flow like a well rehearsed tango-clean and smooth,
And the dialogues can really calm and soothe
If effort is made and honored with courtesy and couth,

Topics and talks mould as children and parents grow,
Conversations are a boat that all have to together row,
Good-bad, pedantic.didactic, comic-tragic with high-low,
Beautiful moments and memories emerge from this flow. 

A Sari Box

A sari box got opened,
And a revelation got made-
Definition of a sari in a dictionary is wrong,
Its not just a garment that’s about six feet long.

It’s a harbinger of memories,
A drape in its weft, weave and wrap carrying stories.
My saris are not just cottons, silks, georgettes and chiffons,
Each one carries memoirs-soirées and songs.

A grand mother’s advise,
An aunt’s surprise,
So much in guise,
And then-conjectures and surmise,

These old saris have opened a floodgate of sorts,
Pouring a deluge of memories- an entire lot,
Taken me back to the place of my youth,
An upbringing of caring, culture and couth.

New fashions and fabrics may come and go,
Some old ones are like a seasoned pro,

Shapes and styles mold as one grow(s),
Yet, a few can still make you gleam and glow,
Reminding that though life’s like a river in continuous flow.
Sometimes it’s better when you stop, savor and slow. 






Today & Tomorrow

Today’s events turn to tomorrow’s stories,
Tales recalled of shared experiences and soirees.
Build today that you’d want to reminisce as you age,
Many remembrances can be relived as you turn a page,

Fill your life with a legacy of love and grace, not hate and rage.
Construe memories that bring smile and satisfaction at any stage.
As you sit back and remember events from the past.
A melting pot will emerge of people, travel, work, and talks that you hast.

Moments we cherish are not just special occasion.
But ordinary turned special by a kind word, a thoughtful action.
Best are days filled with shared goals, collaboration and rejoicing,
Small and big achievement that are enriching and enticing.

In the book of life, some days are happy, others sad,
Some good and others bad,
No one escapes life unscathed-lass or lad.
Your reactions determine an overall card of glad or mad.

No one has only a happy yesterday,
Love, longing, losing-are all served in life’s tray,
Consciously choose positive.
Nip in the bud, the negative.

Simple lessons of life include to be proactive,
Not just reactive.
I cherish time spent with special and simple people.
Honest, humble, humorous, not sitting on a steeple.

Many have helped lighten my load.
Gratitude is due to many special mentors on life’s road.
Books, paintings, travel, sculptures and show,
All compete and complement mind’s space in tow.

Recollections are random, don’t flow in a row.
Many remind of riches of creation, to which I bow.
Thank you Lord for all that you teach and bestow.
Life’s a game of catch and throw.

Mom

I am becoming more like you Ma,
I fear less and feel more,
Sulk less and smile more,
Judge less and juggle more.
I am becoming more like you Ma,
I say yes more and less nah,
I am becoming more like you Ma,
I cook patiently to bring out the flavor,
And eat slowly to taste and savor,
Hear more and easily ask for favor.
I am becoming more like you Ma,
Trying to seek the good and let go of the bad,
I am learning not to stay for long mad,
Look for the best in all-lass and lad.
I am becoming more like you Ma,
I can enjoy my own company and space,
I do not need to follow anyone’s pace
Or attach happiness to any person or place.
I am becoming more like you Ma,
I am learning that life is richer with grace,
It does not have to be a perpetual race,
Peace and contentment can be found if I brace.
I am becoming more like you Ma,
I stop more to smell the roses,
See through pretentions and poses,
Understand that happiness and sadness come in regular doses.