Closest to Heaven
21:52 - Posted by Shilpa K - 1 comments

Closest to Heaven is where I chose to be
So there I was between two palm trees
On a hammock swinging to the music of the wind
The breeze playing with my brunette tresses
And the palm leaves naughtily joining in
Now shadow, now light
In solitude I took delight
As the white sand stretched
As far as my eyes could see
The beauty untouched and as pristine as it could be
Footprints in sand nowhere to be seen
I wonder if so close to Heaven someone had ever been?

The stony gray rocks overshadowed the lazy lagoon
A slice of rapture to devour on a warm sunny afternoon
With a cocktail of ecstasy, mirth and bliss by my side
Raised a toast to the blushing bride
The fair sand as it stood in its white wedding gown
Pearls from the ocean
Confetti from the skies
Champagne from the sea
Music from the waves
A shock of fuchsia orchids amidst the bushes of green
A plumage of prismatic colors to crown an altar so serene
I wonder if so close to Heaven someone had ever been?

The emerald green waters and the clear blue skies
Met at the margin of the bay that my eyes defined
Where the pearl-white flock of birds with ruby-red beaks
Cried and leapt at the sun, warmed with its streaks
Ripples of water shimmering like the facets cut on a crystal
The school of fishes - a splash of colors spilled in the sea
The waters as clear and as virgin as they can be
The corals on the floor like a splatter of paint from His palette
The oysters in the sea like cherries on a charlotte
A place of which the poets sang and the lovers dreamt
But not a soul to be heard, not a face to be seen
I wonder if so close to Heaven someone had ever been?


The uncommon Common Life
15:40 - Posted by Shilpa K - 0 comments

The alarm crowed. A lusty king of the farmyard cock-a-doodle-do. He shut the mobile up. One hour and five minutes was all he had before his day began. He would steal five minutes from that. Look the other way he told that frowning creature in his soul. I do it all the time- a little corruption, a little bribery. I negotiate with the world 24/7. So why not an extra 5 minutes of sleep, he told himself and buried his head under the pillow. And so began another day in the life of an Indian…

Life lately had been very melodramatic for this thirty something with a hairline that seemed to recede at a rate more alarming than that of his stocks- a life more mediocre than his job, a job more demanding than his wife, a wife more cranky than his kids, his kids more ill-mannered than the dog next door, the dog more ill-tempered than his mistress and it’s mistress…Love thy neighbor!

Today’s date was suggestive of something that was as difficult to recollect as the last time he had had a breakfast on the table. So off he rushed, tucking the newspaper under his arm, a slice of bread in his mouth as if to assure the canine next door of brotherhood in the neighborhood, polishing his shoes by brushing them against his trousers, as his mobile guffawed at him with attractive alerts about tarots and hitting the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow amidst a host of reminders, meetings, memos and anniversaries. And what he had been trying to recollect for so long suddenly mushroomed in his mind that was fertile with a thousand unwanted, undesired but nevertheless unavoidable thoughts – It was time he bought a new season ticket for his daily commute! The penguin on his happy feet was close enough not to be evaded and though our hero’s scruples warned him, his hand involuntarily reached out for a crisp note as the paragon of truth smiled almost ironically on it and it was slipped with great dexterity and ease to the right person to instigate a nod of acceptance.

The other three quarters of the hour were peaceful amidst the gang enjoying over their daily game of cards, in dire straits dealing the deck with the forlorn hope that the tables would turn one day, the peeking toms, the zealots who tried to bridge the gap between the Heaven and earth with their operatic performances as pleasant as rubbing your nails against the blackboard, the blind man crying his wares, the ragged urchins with their delicate dirty hands tapping feebly only to be offered a deaf ear, blind eye, a scorn or worse - apathy, the white-collared people juggling their business papers and their phone calls, the college goers- the grown-up kids, people who haven’t met before and will probably never see each other again but still have more in common in that half an hour jaunt than any propinquity could boast of, with the railways bringing people closer literally, as they elbow, push, hustle and bustle their way, discussing why things are the way they are, with a feeling of being in the middle of every controversy strongly rooted in their guts, of being a victim of crimes they haven’t done and living a life they don’t deserve…a motif of variegated thoughts, beliefs and conversations to serve as an excess baggage to his workplace.

You have 13 unread messages…that is how he’s greeted there! He quickly scans his inbox to find a mail from a dear friend, who’d left in search of greener pastures. It speaks of missing the life he’d once run away from, of wanting to have conversations beyond the rigmaroles of the e-mail, with people you can accidentally bump into while strolling on the road, of wanting his kids to imbibe values that cannot be taught, of wanting to curse the system and yet be completely in love with it, to feel rejuvenated by the glow of the sweat on sultry days, to be at a place called home and feel at home for home is where the heart is! Our hero silently accepted the fact that you never know what you’ve got until it’s missing…so much so about a day in the life of India!