Pandemic Fatigue
I am tired
of wearing a mask everyday
of social distancing
of sanitizing frequently
of staying at home
of being afraid of people
of not going out
of not eating out at restaurants
of not travelling.
I am tired
of the new normal.
The pandemic fatigue is setting in...
I want to live
not
survive.
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Chashma
Chalo aaj mud ke kal ko dekhte hai
Par pehle zara ye gulabi chashma uttar lo
Warna tum phir yahi kahoge
Yaar kal bahut haseen tha
Tum bhool gaye wo roz ki bhagdag
Wo alarm ka zor se bajna, wo jhatke se uth kar nahaane
bhaagna
Naashta haath mein lekar, computer aur phone ko balance
karte huey train pakadna
Dhakkam dhukki ke beech phone answer karna aur phir poora
din chakkarghinni ki tarah ghoomna
Raat ko thak kar chid chide mood mein rehna, tapaak se mujhe
shut up keh dena
Tum bhool gaye ye sab baatein.
Chalo aaj ab is aaj
ko dekhte hai
Par pehle zara ye saleti chashma uttar lo
Warna tum phir yehi kahoge
Yaar aaj bahut depressing hai
Tum nahi dekhoge ki aaj kitna shaant hai
Ab alarm nahi bajta, araam se angrai lekar bistar par pade khidki ke bahar
baithe
totey ki jode ki
chechahat sunte hai
halanki work from home hai aur ghanto computer par beet
jaate hai
lekin na wo bhaag daud hai, na wo time ka stress. na wo
shorsharaba
Tum bhool jaate ho ye sab baatein
Chalo aaj aane waale kal ko dekhte hai
Par pehle zara ye kaala chashma uttar lo
Warna tum phir yahi kahoge
Yaar aage bahut andhera hai
Tum nahi dekh paaoge roshni ki wo kiran
Jo door jhilmila rahi hai aur keh rahi hai ki waqt guzar
hee jayega
Raasta mushkil zaroor hai. lekin raasta he hai, kahin toh
pahuchayega
Toh bas ummeed ka daaman na chodo aur dheere hee sahi par
chaltey reho
Kal bas yahi yaad rahega ki kissne kitna saath nibhaya aur
kis tarah nibhaya
Tum bas yaad rakhna ye hee baatein.
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Space
A little space
so
I can grow
A little more
so
you can grow
then
A little more
so
we can grow.
That`s all I want.
I am taking my blog to the next level with Blogchatter’s My Friend Alexa Campaign.
The little boy sighed.
He tried so hard to colour inside the lines but no matter how he tried there was always some colour outside the drawing. Last week his teacher had scolded him and said sternly, " Why are you so messy and dirty? You can NEVER be an artist" His face had burned with shame as his eyes had darted fearfully all over his drawing book.
He was determined to do a good job this time. It was Naani`s birthday and he had asked his mother to draw a big flower for him. He wanted to colour it in shades of red and pink , just like those flowers that bloomed in Naani`s garden. But the colour., as usual, had spilled out.
He still wanted to give it to Naani so in the evening when his mother told him that they would go to see Naani, he quickly folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. Naani was sitting out in the garden and he ran upto her.
"Naani," he panted as he handed her the drawing, " for you. Happy Birthday !"
Naani unfolded the paper and gasped. "Such a beautiful flower ! The prettiest I have ever seen in my life! You are going to be a great painter" She traced the little blobs of paint scattered on the paper and hugged the little boy.
The little boy beamed with pleasure. He would become a painter!
I am taking my blog to the next level with Blogchatter’s My Friend Alexa Campaign.
Generosity
At the traffic signal, a hand stretched out from a car window. It held a paper bag dangling in the air.
The little urchin ran across the road and gleefully grabbed it. He drooled as he saw a half-eaten burger and some limp fries. He walked back to the pavement and sat down when he spotted the dog. He smiled. He tore the half-eaten burger into two pieces and threw one piece to the lanky dog.
There was always enough to share.
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The Story
He stood under the cold shower, eyes closed in a bliss, he picked up the shower gel and lathered it all over his body. He loved long showers but today he did not have the luxury of doing so -his boss had just messaged him.
I need 400 words on migrants-full
drama, tears-the works. By noon. Today.
He walked to his wooden desk next to the French window
overlooking the lush garden that his wife tended to so lovingly. The endless
row of marigold danced joyfully even as the hot wind slapped them harshly. He
booted his computer and called out, “Bahadur. Get me a shikanji. At least 6 cubes
of ice. And keep some beer in the freezer.”
He scrolled through a few websites, humming under his
breath, when he spotted picture of migrants. A bus bursting with passengers
and their belongings , a man trying to scramble up the roof-top with a toddler clinging on to his legs.
Perfect.
He smiled.
This is going to be a great story.
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