On the death of a baby girl

In the shade of our tamarind tree,

I often think about you, my baby.

You would have been four by now,

Maybe just started school.

Your mother loves you, I want you

To know that. But then you always

question. You ask me, "Why did you

stop me ? Was I not reason enough for

Happiness ?"

You were, my child, you were.

I stopped you, I did not want you to

die in the way I do. Every single day.

My blood and tears are reason enough

To stop you. Maybe some other world

Is ours. Where I can keep you hidden

From vile eyes, words and touch.

Where I can see you smile, walk and grow.

Where I can beam after watching your laughter.

In the shade of our tamarind tree,

I often think about you, my baby.

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MRS DESPATCHER(PART II)

CONTINUED FROM PREVIOUS POST… Eighteen months later…. I was beginning to like my work. It was a challenge sometimes. I had learnt to go beyond boundaries. The dreams which had eluded me once, were dawning as reality now. I had my taste of success and as they say nothing succeeds like success. I had developed a knack for solving my own problems. One day , I chanced by a couple who were seated in a corner of the quaint little coffee shop. I couldn’t believe my eyes…. Divya and Sandip…here of all places. I couldn’t help but confront them. Divya was warmer than ever before and Sandip… I knew he was feeling a bit coy..its so typical of him. But I was more than surprised when he asked me to join them. Though I didn’t refuse, they found me going after five minutes. I invited them for lunch on Sunday. It was a fine Sunday morning and my guests were sharp on time. Divya offered me help in the kitchen and I chose not to refuse. My books kept Sandip busy. She could read my mind and went on with h

ILLUSIONS OF REALITY...

The more you point out my mistakes, The more you are drawn towards me. The more you try to hurt me, The more you bleed in your heart. The more you run away from me, The more my memories haunt you. The more you want to forget me, The more you are reminded of my presence. The more you want to chase me away, The closer I come to you. The more you hate me, The more you end up loving me. The more you call me an “illusion” The more I dawn as the reality of your life….

THE "MILK" GIRL

What do you think of a five year old kid who lives on milk?No food,only a feeding bottle three times a day...That's me,this pic is mine when I was 18 months old.How do you like it? At the same time,I was a big "goon" in my friend circle.My cousin,who was a year older than me,was a weak boy.He always said,"Let my sis' come,she'll set you right."When I came to his place(during holidays),most of his bullies woundn't step out of their houses.Such was the goonda-raj.Even 10 year old boys weren't spared.I still remember how I bashed them up,dragging them on stairs by their hair.One of them was a Judoka.When someone told him that we must have a second duel,he cried,"No,not with her." My parents really began to worry when I didn't eat "solid food" even after I went to school.I consumed about 3.5 litres of milk a day and threw tantrums if it fell short or didn't taste good.My "lunch bottle" of milk was handed to me b

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