Healing Aura

A week back my son came back from school and called me on my cell. He was quite excited - their class was asked to write about their pets at home. Well, we do not have a pet and I was at a loss about what excited him so much about this assignment. I asked him as much. “Well even if I don’t have a permanent pet, I do have an occasional pet. How can you forget BuBu?” Heavens, yes indeed how can I forget BuBu. Had he been a man, I would have hated his guts (I still do even though he is not a man)! Well sometimes I think he has all the attributes of an Adonis full of himself. No I am not joking, I am really serious and I know it sounds foolish. Trust me, if you see him you will lock eyes with me and then roll them heavenwards. Yes, just the way you would refrain from saying something to an egoistic man’s face.

BuBu is not only my son’s occasional pet, but also my brother-in-law’s (belongs to a friend who drops him off when not in town). He is white and fluffy – fits the new-age metrosexual male’s image of “fair and handsome”. Carries himself as if he, not my brother-in-law is the owner of the house he occasionally inhabits. He stations himself at the door, scans the people who enter, dismisses them as unimportant (that’s the feeling at least I have always got) and then stretches himself on the white flooring, disappearing effectively in the décor. Reason for people to stumble and fall!!

He is toilet-trained (clockwork mostly, but also human sometimes, if I may say so). My bro-in-law is a busy person, out of the house for most part of the day (and night sometimes given his professional background). BuBu is left alone at home with the house-maid coming in for about two hours daily, during which he is fed and “watered”. However, like I keep reiterating, he is almost “human”, gets up to the bucket full of water kept for him in the kitchen sink. And the fact that he really doesn’t know what to do home alone is evident from the sofa set, which has been mercilessly clawed at. Then again the masters should know better. And his expression says it.

This vacation my son spent a good three weeks with his uncle and BuBu has considerably grown on him. He makes sounds while eating as BuBu would have made and we have to understand that he misses BuBu. A practically imperceptible BuBu clicked on the white flooring also elicits a “so cute no?” comment from my son. Why ever not? I don’t know whether BuBu otherwise tolerates it, but he was made much of a plaything by my son. Twice a day BuBu had to lie on his back and do his Yoga exercises. He had to be agreeable to being picked up for no reason at all and carried all over the house. Or being followed or checked up on whenever he moved from one room to the other. Even his bored expression could not deter my son.

BuBu was abandoned and that’s how my bro-in-law’s friend found him. They discovered that BuBu was already toilet-trained and domesticated. It follows that some rich family had just got rid of him the easy way. The friend took him in. And now he seems as much a part of our family as of the friend’s.

Oh, I forgot to mention, BuBu is a tomcat, though not of the Cheshire variety (he never smiles)!

——-Gauri Kanyalkar ——-

This poem was originally written for http://dontgiveupworld.com/dignity/ 

You can read the original story that inspired this poem here : http://passionwriters.com/2011/05/mountain-berries/

On top of the mountain
Where the sun beats down
Sacrificial turns rule
And loneliness abounds

We and our hatchback
Traversing the bends
The harshness of cliffs
Craggy rocks never end

Where man dreads
To tread the road
No water to quench
No morsel or food

A woman charges forth
To the middle of the drive
To travelers minuscule
“Buy my berries,” she cries

Though dismayed greatly
We continue the journey
The woman’s picture
Etched in our memory

We have to return
By the self same road
Unconsciously looking out
For the “berries” code

It’s not the woman
That we see this time
But two little girls
With faces sublime

“Buy our berries,sir
Oh! Please do!”
What, but to stop
Without much ado

They sell us their ware
And obtain their fare
When they are certain
They have our attention

“Give us something to eat!”
They imply with reticence
Such dignity in struggle
Such strength in action

——-Gauri Kanyalkar——

<script src=”http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js” type=text/javascript>

<script src=”http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/r20110622/r20110627/show_ads_impl.js”>

<script src=”http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/render_ads.js”>

<script>google_protectAndRun(”render_ads.js::google_render_ad”, google_handleError, google_render_ad);

This write-up was written by my 10 year old son and I felt that it was an engaging description. Here it is, and does it show, how situations impact childrens lives and help shape them as human beings!

They say “A friend in need is a friend indeed.” You could say that my best friend is just that. His name is Chirag. He has a big family, a big name and big dreams. We both dream about the same thing - cars! I hope we will someday act upon it and build a striving car company.

Now I am going to narrate to you all an incident which happened with me last year. Our class teacher Elaine John had taken the whole of 4th D to the area near the K.G. Park, where there were small rocking ducks and dolphins on which the K.G. & 1st standard students could enjoy themselves. We were playing the game - dog & the bone with a book. We all were enjoying ourselves.

Finally it was my turn to face a tall girl from the opposition. Her name was Shruti. As she was tall, she was easily at an advantage. I finally made my move. I tried to take the book and run away, but she was quite fast, fast enough to catch my collar and push me to the ground, snatching the book from my hands.

She ran to her team with her face lit up with joy and pride, whereas I lay there, tears rolling down my cheeks, as my knee was bleeding. Then suddenly someone wiped my tears off with his soft fingers and helped me stand. I realized that it was Chirag. He told me to jump a few times so that I could stop crying. He accompanied me to the Healthcare Centre under Elaine maam’s command. She then dealt with Shruti for her ruthless behaviour. Safely bandaged, I came back to the ground with Chirag.

Now I do not fear the world, because I have a friend like Chirag with me, who would assist me, would help me in good and bad times. A friend indeed!

——– Yash S. Kanyalkar ——–

14^th February (2011) is most often than not such a happy day. I experienced a very different kind of valentine feeling today – one which touched my heart in a very different and potent way. I met one of my office friends’ after practically one whole month and just last week I was wondering where she was.

She looked a tad washed out and tired, making me think – maybe she had been sick and badly so. I asked her the obvious question and she nodded (she is habitually a very silent person – you have to probe and pry to open her up). Old habits die hard and I was not satisfied with the answer. Her eyes looked so full of pain. “What happened?” I asked. “I had an abortion!” the words hit me bang at my core as if I had lost my own and in spite of myself my hand was on her back soothing her.

Her eyes immediately filled with unshed tears. I cursed myself. The company bus arrived before I could convey my regret and pain at her loss. Even now as I type this my day has been incomplete, I could not relieve one would-have-been mom’s guilt, pain at not being able to carry her child to full term. My friend this is a valentine to you from your baby!

I know just how badly

You wanted me mom

How much you persisted

Your love for me was firm

It’s difficult to love

Someone you never saw

But believe me mom

I love you so much more

I promise you mom

It’s only a matter of time

This separation is short

I will be back in no time

So give nature a chance

To again bring us together

To be tied in such a bond

Strong - in every weather!

Believe in me mom

And my father in heaven

He thought it best to wait

And unite us forever!!

A bundle of joy at my bosom

Two hearts beating in tandem

A life entrusted to my care

To love and mould with dare

How do I shape this urn

Every touch, spin and turn

Of the wheel is unstoppable

Final silhouette unpredictable

His eyes twinkle and ensnare

A toothless smile in a face fair

Tiny hand clasping my thumb

No fear at all of abandon

The trust in me is profound

And his love for me sound

I must stand the vital test

To reinstate him as the best

The instinct to craft a being

Is like no other undertaking

Once you set it in motion

No stopping, just caution!!

(From a ten-year old’s perspective)

Never knew an apology

Could tug at my heart so

When mom said sorry

Why was I sad – don’t know

She asked me whether

I wanted to punish her

Do you think that’s right?

Would it not hurt her?

You see she scolded me

Late into the night

I know she didn’t sleep

That’s always her plight

Most times she does not

Say sorry when she scolds

Only when she gets angry

When I am not at fault

I cannot get mad at her

Though she is so strict

It’s because I know that

Love is there underneath

I sat in the terrace and watched

A football match in the garden

Two boys teams short of quorum

But full of zeal for their mission

Rain beating down their shoulders

The green of the dewy grass fresh

The brown of grime and agile limbs

Excitement is what teens search

New graceful entrants emerge

Girls wary and shy at first

But independence and confidence

Propelling them to prove their worth

The match takes on a new meaning

The goals with aplomb achieved

The boys play their game, preening

The girls already sure to succeed

As parents observe, exchange smiles

Looking an avoidable storm in the eyes

Very soon thunderstorms and lightning

Will herald the age of moods and sighs

Beautiful lofty mountains, welcoming you back, when you return from a vacation in the beautiful lofty mountains!! “No,” thought Geeta “I am not repeating myself. I am just reacting to the sight of the fog enveloped mountains, growing on me as I walk uphill to my residential complex.” The onset of the rains have put a chill in the air, washed away the grime from the greens and put hope back into the hearts of the people tired of the summer heat. The continuance of the weather in Matheran closer home gladdened Geeta’s heart and soul.

When she rang the door-bell, it chimed “Home Sweet Home!” It was so good to be back home. One more surprise awaited her, Aai pointed out the Brahma Kamal plant, a sparrow had built her nest in it. Delicate twigs arranged nicely in the shape of a small bowl – you can call it a baby bowl. It was sheer workmanship – skillful and artistic, the most delicate thing in the world, it looked delicate than gossamer!

The sparrow had finished the nest twig by twig in two days. Geeta warned Yug to stay away from the nest, even the birds held their home sacred and trespassers were not allowed. Yug’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “It’s so cute and right here in our terrace! I am so honored she chose our house to build her nest!”

The next day, when Geeta arrived back from work and peeped into the nest from afar, she saw that the nest had served its purpose – two small eggs lay inside it. “Oh wow! We have a make-shift bird hospital in our house.” Yug was very excited, but like a very good boy kept his distance. The sparrow flew in at all hours to hatch the eggs, but flew away, whenever someone set foot into the terrace. “Looks like, we will have to quarantine the terrace, if the eggs are to be hatched in time!” thought Geeta.

Few days passed and the eggs finally hatched – two very groggy baby sparrows could be seen. The mother brought morsels of food to feed them. Geeta and Yug watched from behind the closed French windows, fearing to disturb the feeding sessions. With time the babies grew stronger, attempting to take off from the nest, it was becoming cramped for them anyways. First flight saw them flap their wings for a little distance and then crash on the floor of the terrace. The mother kept an alert watch. They tried again the next day and the next, slowly gaining confidence. Finally they found the strength in their wings and soared, not very far from the terrace, but made it to the Gulmohar about a yard away.

Geeta stopped awhile and glanced at Yug, “Will I be able to achieve what the non-interfering mother sparrow had achieved – Give him wings?”

A Hindustani Classical lecture is in progress. Students are children in the age group of 3 to 15 years. A home-based music class run in one of Mumbai’s typical suburbs. The sound of the harmonium playing accompanied by the tal-mala. The children singing a bandish in Raag Des. Their bright voices and confident notes (though sometimes wrong) evoking a sense of peace and all’s well with the world feeling. No wonder the ground floor flat in a busy colony has many elderly strollers looking in through the window and smiling a half smile.

Today the teacher has a different array of songs for the children to sing. Tomorrow is 15^th August and it’s going to be a holiday. Hence the class will celebrate by singing some different songs than usual. Since the age group of the children is diverse, the teacher asks a question, “Are you ready to sing some songs composed before you were born?” Even the tiniest student answers, “Yes!!” (Can’t you understand, then they won’t have to sing the 7 raagas, which are mandatory for the pre-primary exam of Gandharva Mahavidyalaya).

With the “Yes” start a host of tunes like “Ae mere pyaare watan,” “De dee hame ajaadi,” “Ae mere watan ke logon,” and many more. The students end up only listening to these, because by their very genre and through the sheer talent of the composers and singers, these songs are not easy to sing. Finally, the teacher settles on a simpler score to teach. The class gets on and everybody goes home.

There is one child out of these music students, who is desperately waiting for his mom to return home from work. He wants to share something so badly with her. When she does come home, he insists, that she listen to him first. “Okay!! Okay, let’s listen to what you have to tell me.” “Mom, do you know, tomorrow is Independence Day and teacher sang few songs to us. We could not follow and sing them easily. So she selected an easier song to teach us.” “ Hmm… which song?” “Har karam apna karenge, ae watan tere liye.” “So, did you all learn it?” “Yes, but I really don’t know why she felt it was an easier song.” “What do you mean?” “This song also made me feel like crying, when I sang it!!! And all the others, when I heard them!!” “Sing it for me dear, let me see, if I cry, when you sing it.”

The child sang, and tears streamed down the mother’s face. Isn’t it strange, and I am sure most of us have felt it, the Motherland teaches your heart to thud, your blood to rush, your tears to flow and your living takes on a new meaning.

Two of our advertisements are already released, one print and the other one is a media advert.

We have opened the second showroom of AUTOBLAZE in Panvel, exactly one year after the inauguration of the first one in Pune.

Chirag’s father liked my interpretation on paper of his idea for the make-over of the Mercedes. Said it was exactly, what he had in mind.

Few more designs are taking shape, this time round I have brainstormed alone, let’s see if this goes through with the Big Man.

Mom had the familiar smirk on her face, when she heard this. Why does she hate cars so much? Maybe, because she is a woman? Nah, so many others I know, love them.

I am sure Papa will rejoice. Will drive him out tomorrow to the inauguration of AUTOBLAZE 2. Mom might resist at first, but her love for me overrides all her pet hates!!

10.30 pm? Got an hour more to finish off this design.

(wishful musings of a 9 year old – automobile engineer / car designer in the making)