Category Archives: Dedicated
Preparing all what is required for Diwali
You were particular about everything till all was replete.
Everything is ready today, except you
My Diwali is incomplete.
We never burst crackers together,
But I still can hear your warning on repeat
“Pataakha dhyaan rakh ke jalaana Chetan”
Without that warning, celebrations stand incomplete.
Your constant appearance in White Kurta every year,
Together, our routine to purchase the sweets,
Your habit of buying fruits for Diwali
Everything is missed, I cannot retreat.
Thus, Incomplete the taste to whatever I eat.
I won’t light rockets, if it might hurt you
Are you celebrating? In heaven do they greet?
This Diwali will not be able to bring light.
The diyas fear darkness which they cannot defeat.
This darkness makes my Diwali incomplete.
I miss your touch and I miss your blessing,
After Puja’s done, Now I cannot touch your feet
You will shower good wishes from above,
But you wont say, “Khush Raho!”
In complete silence, Diwali stands incomplete.
I’ll save the fresh memories to tell you someday
The memories you created will never be obsolete,
But your memories cant make this Diwali complete.
So, lead us from darkness unto light. Come home this Diwali?
Come home please? We are eager to meet.
We’ll wait beyond the time when diyas go off.
By the side of faded diyas, my Diwali left incomplete.
Baabu, for that is what I call Him, saw His watch. It was 5 in the evening and still no sign of me coming home after I left home early morning. He kept seeing His watch, as it moved from an hour to another and His worries and concern now made Him tensed. He sighed when eventually I entered the house, seeing the time on His watch again to take note of my doing. This continued for days and seldom did i reciprocate His worries for me in any little way. Post overnight when He used to get up to use the washroom, He saw me awake, working, so many times and looked at His watch again. But again He did not say a word but made me understand the importance of sleep and coming home early the next morning itself. He never disturbed me while I was working. His way of making me understand and the willingness for putting me before Himself are gestures I am no match to. In the meantime, I was away for college leaving His watch to tick all the while and make Him worry again.
Why do we take grandparents for granted? Why can’t we spare any little time for them? Why can’t we visit them if they stay far? Why do we live with them in a way that they live far? Why do they still care after all the treatment you give them?
One day, when His watch continued ticking, He stopped worrying for me. He stopped getting tensed. He was sans emotions. He was sans His own being. He was no more. Time did not wait. All it left us with were a number of WHYs, few of them asked above. Time did not wait. His watch was the only thing running on his body and he slept there lifeless.
Prayer services and funeral arrangements begun. Pundits came. With every ritual, my desperation for His touch or His sight increased when suddenly His watch was unbuckled from His wrist and the pundit instantly buried it among other plundered assets in his pocket. The next eleven days when the pundit kept coming, I kept finding Baabu’s watch on his wrist in vain. It was never there. It must now be hanging at some shop for second-hand products waiting to be sold cheaply. It’s pure economics how one good can be priceless for a person (read: me) and cheap for any other. Another perfect case of economics is of the pundits whose marginal revenues depend on how pious the grieving family is and all the demand-supply is dealt with in dakshina. Pundits who preach praying for the deceased and tell us good about the heaven, have made a hell on the planet via our piousness. While Baabu must be in heaven, (thus, all the pronouns used for ‘Him’ are in title case.) His watch will make a tour in their Hell.
He always hoped I come back on time, all I hope now is to come back in time.
Two things raced on His wrist; the pulse and the watch. The result, people say, is rigged. When the pulse stopped in its track, the watch did not wait. Time did not wait.
Siblings. They are a blessing. They are your life. And, they are complaining.
“Mummy, bhaiya ke birthday pe hi hota hai kuch bhi. Mere birthday pe kuch hota hi nai”, my sister used to complain. Until one day, when she actually played it smart.
…is what she posted on November 8th, 2014, just five days before her birthday. I laughed so much after seeing this, but we couldn’t just let this opportunity and this wish down. We were up to the task! I remember her excitement just before 13th, when she knew there was a surprise waiting for her in the room and she wasn’t allowed to enter till midnight. I remember the excitement with which all of us were setting up things. Bua had come home. Divya di helped Mummy at making the room look more beautiful. Vaibhav bhaiya took the laziest job of being with Vishakha and not allowing her come near to the surprise area. Papa had brought whatever he was asked to from the market, a day he did not forget not a single thing on the list. The clock struck 12. The laziest job soon was the toughest. Vishakha was raring to enter. Her birthday had started. “Thank you” was all she kept saying, shouting. She smiled. She laughed. She had no idea what else to do other than that. She asked us to click photos, posed with things we had gifted her. She was happy. And none of us can ever forget the way she expressed she was.
I was asked to narrate a memorable incident where being together with family members made me feel optimistic. I had to think much, which made me realize how less such incidents are. But when we actually will think about such memorable incidents, we realize what families can do to us. They give us hope of having any success and happiness in the world which we want and they will make it available. They fill you with optimism when they tell us that it will make them happy, if we find success. They make us look up, because they are behind us armed with pride. The birthday had just started. Vishakha went to Pizzahut for lunch with friends and to GoGreen with us for dinner and that whole day, I could find all of that hope, optimism and pride on her face.
We fight so much because not doing so will be too boring. We hurt each other because we love each other. The amount she loves me is so, so overwhelming. She doesn’t leave one stone unturned when I have fever. She would wash the thermometer, fetch medicines, even volunteer to put wet cloth on my head. That is not all. She is a mumma’s girl. I never used to tell mummy so much about school as she does after returning home. This includes her tears and anger too at some other girl who has offended her.
She was crying and shouting near to mummy when I approached her. She refused to tell me and asked mummy not to tell me. She never shared her incidents only trusting mummy with all of it. I kept forcing. She kept mum.
I always came to know what was the matter, eventually because my mother is also a beta’s mummy. 😀 She was crying because some friend of hers spoke something against me at her school. Haha! This must be 3-4 years back, and seeing such possessiveness and love was surprising.
Siblings are cute. The following narration is my favourite. Before Vishakha was born, we did a trip to Gangtok. Mummy often told her stories from that trip, “Jab tum paida nai hui thi na, toh humlog gangtok gaye the….”
My parents and Vishakha went to Jaiseedhi, which I gave a skip and Vishakha once came to me, to tell her story from the trip saying, “Jab aap paida nai hue the na, toh humlog Jaiseedhi gaye the…” Hahaha! I laughed so much. I told so many other people. And I just couldn’t stop loving her more when she said those words.
Her birthday summed up our love for her. Out of all the wrong messages Bollywood has conveyed, one message stays the truest that a sister will miss her siblings the most after her marriage. A brother always hopes to show his biggest gesture towards his sister, till one day, on her marriage, he finally has his biggest gesture in front of him which he never wants to make. She jumps to bed, face turned down and cries just like I do, she cries now because I tease her, or fight with her, we cry together when mummy attains the state of an angry women, but I cannot have her crying because we will no longer be together. The most beautiful bond god has ever made. It is a different story that I will laugh so much when that day actually comes. For now, I have just tried being extra melo-dramatic. Vishakha! She is my hope and she is my pride.
Promise to keep making memories together and hold on to memories made together.