Sketchy

I recently rediscovered my love for doodling. Like most of the things I do, I'm not really good at it, but they give me joy, much greater than my talent for them. Figured could put them up here to have them for posterity, I'm not really good with saving hard copies, since I just draw anywhere and everywhere. I also have realised that I need a pencil. One shot attempts in ink do end up in some really scary sketches. Although, a part of me likes the fact that I get just one shot. Anyway, I'm not really much of an artist, so they might just offend aesthetics mostly. Also, hope to hunt for some old drawings when I go home, might find a few.

TerriblyTinyTales #3

What hurt was not the hand that pushed, but the shattered hope that pierced the heart

Took me long enough...

I was probably eleven or twelve when my entire school, both my closest friends included started going on and on about Harry Potter. They talked about muggles and you-know-who… scars and cloaks… about moony and prongs… it made no sense and I felt curious. But more than that I felt this strange detachment, this resolve that I would never read Harry Potter. I would feel left out, yet weirdly self-righteous. That it was somehow an insult to be one of the zillion kids reading Harry Potter.  

I think in the eighth or tenth standard, one of my most dearly loved teachers gave us an English project… we were divided into different groups and had to illustrate our group’s theme somehow.. with charts… skits…the works.  I was in the group of people who had either not read Harry Potter or hated it. It was a tiny group, who were clueless about what to do. We had to talk about the villains; I spoke about you-know-who, Lord Voldemort. Somebody wrote a page, and I read it out. Very consciously trying to just recite the text word by word and not understand a word of it. Some people came up to me and asked whether I had been in some sort of a trance. There was a group of my friends, who had enacted Snape and Lockhart’s duel.. and it had become an instant hit, re-enacted multiple times for different teachers and students. I thought they were hilarious, but most of it made no sense to me and I preferred it that way. I could neither understand my detachment from these books… nor explain it.

Didn’t watch the movies either, was forced to watch one when I was about sixteen… Harry Potter and the Goblet of fire. Again, consciously ignored most of the movie, paid attention only to Cedric Diggory.

Over the years however, I understood my antagonism towards the world… I realise I have this weird thing… some sort of possessiveness or jealousy over the books that I read.. I understand now that I did not want to read those books then because my friends spoke of them with such familiarity that it instantly made me shut them out.

So, last year I decided out of the blue, that I would read Harry Potter. Most of my generation, and the previous and the next had already read them, watched the movies and moved on. Those who didn’t, show a similar detachment as mine. I felt maybe I could now indulge my curiosity.  I just finished the seventh book. Deliberately taking breaks and reading other books, to prolong reading the final book. The journey has been incomparable and inexplicable.

As I devoured the pages I had bits and pieces of my school-life fall into place. Pallavi and Aanchal… Moony, Padfoot, Prongs suddenly made sense. Zoya as Lockhart and Palak as Snape played out that very duel in my mind.

I could not count if I tried to, the number of books I have read; but although quite different, the best of them could not compare to the world that I became a part of.

I cannot help but wonder whether I would have found the world more magical as a twelve-year old, less touched by reality or do I appreciate the magic a little more now… as the world grows more real ?

Although I might be a little late in saying this, Thank You J.K. Rowling

Budday ka budday :D

A tiny bundle, full of joy

In my arms, a little toy

The smile so sweet

The chin so long

Eyes that twinkle

Your laughter a song

As we grew together

In fights and play

Over the years

I never really did say,

How much you are to me

And so much more

My tiny baby brother

All crazy and mature

A friend like no other

The best for sure

Today, as you turn twenty-two

I pray to the heavens

That all your dreams come true

All that you wish for

Is yours to take

Happy and successful

The life you make

Wish you all the best

May you forever be blest

With loads of love, hugs and kisses

Here are my birthday wishes

Wish you a very Happy Twenty-two

And a fifty five zillion more too!

TerriblyTinyTales #2

She knelt down, wiped my streaming tears, made me sit at her desk and opened my tiffin box for me. My first day at nursery.

TerriblyTinyTales #1

A tiny little hand grasped mine and I needed neither my walking stick nor my glasses, the world seemed safer and more beautiful this way 

By My Window Pane

I sit by the window, and look at the rustling leaves, the swaying trees. The wind blows as if with a purpose, a purpose to stir up all that sleeps, all that lays dormant, all that lays forgotten. I look out and think how different it all seems, how strange it all feels as compared to the mundane, purposeless rush of traffic every day. When the few trees look bored, look dead, just standing as the slow traffic trudges by. Strange it is, how the rush of people looks so lifeless on some days and how a lone walker, fighting against the headstrong wind, clutching at his jacket moves forward with all his might, how alive he looks, how alive the wind is. As I think of this, I think of dreams, of feelings that are most alive in utmost calm, in utmost silence… in times like today. Like, when I read, when I walk alone sometimes… when I look out of my car window… when I am just about to fall asleep in his arms…  and suddenly a piece of paper flies in… brown and worn.. I catch it as it flies in through my window. Slightly crumpled, slightly torn yet preserving the story it tells. No name… just a poem.. a night… a lifetime…

The wind calms down, having fulfilled it’s purpose, awakening hope in me that their story is true, awakening joy at knowing their secret and awakening a desire to share it with the world…

A cup of coffee, warm and strong            

A warm pullover, tad too long                    

Rain drenched moonlight                             

Droplets on my window pane                    

A half-read book, by my side                      

The road lays bare, empty and wide        

Lost in memories, a dream in sight   

Our hands entwined, walking in the rain 

I hum that song 

As we walk along

In that magical night                                        

Blessed by the stars, the moon, the rain           

I look up at you, my prince by my side                    

A smile, a blush, eyes twinkling with pride            

You turn and hold me, close and tight                     

A memory, a dream, the truth: simple and plain 

Then we said so long

But we couldn't have been more wrong

For, in that magical night

My heart felt a piercing pain

Even though I tried

My love for you I couldn’t hide

And I knew it was right

My love, my dream, blessed by the rain

With me you walk, proud and strong,

A life lived together, happy and long

Hands still held, eyes twinkling bright

I hum a song, of love that didn't wane

I still look up and swell with pride

I’m old and wrinkly; still you’re by my side

I remember that dream, that magical night

When I dreamt of this, by my window pane 

-         Anonymous