HURRICANE

The neatly stacked pile of shirts is in a disarray. My laundry guy is amazed at the amount of the same shirts being sent for re ironing again,he does not complain though. The shirts on the floor are picked up by the maid grudgingly.

There is talcum powder scattered all over my ebony wood floor where you can just skate with your bare feet, The soles are perfumed and the socks too feel pampered.

The I pods lie in different rooms severed from their docks. They are longing to be re attached again and resume their music. The CDs too are away from their cases, some have been scratched beyond recognition so as to be played by any player in the world. The wires connecting my theater system are pulled out of their sockets. The remotes lack crucial buttons and batteries too.

The crumbs of bread and biscuits stick to your floor as you step out of my room. Toys frequently hit your feet. A milky spill adheres like glue to your powdered feet. It slows your walking pace. A few utensils and spoons lie on the floor. They are banged at will and bear marks on them. The pillows on the sofa are over here and there.

My books which were so neatly covered with plastic are carefully stripped down. The plastic flies about making a rustling sound. Some books on the lower shelves have their pages missing too. A comic book lies on the floor which looks tired after a tough journey through a shredding machine. There is chaos everywhere.

Our watchmen frequently retrieve the toys which have been flung out from our home. They are a worried lot as objects gain momentum when thrown from a height. Their stiff caps may not be able to protect them from this onslaught.

We are the innocent victims of a Hurricane attack.

It occurs daily in our house.

Its called Hurricane Prithvy! My naughty son. He leaves a trail of destruction wherever he goes and smiles after his acts. We too smile and hope that someday he will understand.

I will have to stop typing urgently as he is pulling the laptop away from me......

Over and Out! Transmission Lost! SOS SOS HELP US!

THE GRAZED KNEES.

The balcony wall in our old house bears the marks of our knees.
As kids, we used to hang around a lot in the balcony standing on our toes with our knees firmly abutted against the wall. Be it watching the children play or gazing at the pretty girls in our neighbourhood, our balcony view never failed us.It was like a bird's eye view.
We anxiously used to await the arrival of our parents from their jobs every evening. This was very painful as we were of the opinion that they should stop working and stay at home,all the time with us.
During Diwali, the wait would get exciting as we would see our dad ambling towards home with a box of fire crackers in his hands.We would start yelling at his sight with joy and rush down to welcome him and the cracker box. This wait was worth its weight in gold.

After careful segregation and division of the crackers, Me and my brother would have a blast bursting the crackers.My dad would always supervise with his hawk eyes and help us at times with the bombs. His eyes would sparkle with joy seeing us in such a happy state. We would finish the crackers in no time and look expectantly at him for more. He always replenished our stocks. He charged our lives. He recharged our lives.

The life cycle goes on.

My kids also eagerly wait for me now, and scream with glee when they see me arrive home. Chaitra loves mild noiseless crackers but Prithvy is not afraid of noisy ones.

This Diwali is the first one without my dad.

We are in mourning and do not feel like celebrating at all. Chaitra asked innocently for sparklers and I refused her breaking her little heart.She later understood the reason behind my refusal. She did not ask again but she contentedly,watches the firework display in the building from our balcony. A child has a very tough time suppressing her desires and wishes. I am proud of her maturity at such a tender age.
This Diwali was without any sweets or lamps for us.
As per as tradition, near and dear relatives come over with sweets for us grieving folks. Mansi's aunt got a small sparkler box for her. She lit them at Mansi's clinic during Laxmi Pooja.
My eyes were sparkling and I remembered my dad's eyes. Our happiness lies in our children.

I still wait at my balcony, patiently for my dad to come home. He will never even if I graze my knees waiting for him.

Prithvy points heavenwards with his index finger when I ask him about my dad's whereabouts and Chaitra wipes my moist eyes and takes me to my room.

TEARS- NOW AND THEN.

When we were small kids, we had to undergo the religious rite of mundan ceremony. The near and dear relatives had gathered around. Me and my brother were pretty anxious and sad about losing our silky curly hair. The barber came with his rusty razor and began shaving our delicate pates. A few nicks were promptly rubbed with alum. The entire procedure left us in tears. After the mundan, a big black umbrella was kept open over us and sweetmeats were showered on the umbrella. Our cousins ran around to grab the bouncing sweets. They looked happy. A major event in our childhood was celebrated with much fanfare. But, we were sulky. We later cried in my mother's arms.

The big black umbrella was used by my dad during the rains. It was majestic and quiet sturdy. We were covered and protected from the rains under its giant canopy. My dad was also like an umbrella always protecting us from the harsh realities of life. He made us resistant and strong. We would always rely on him.
He never failed us.
He was like our invisible shield.

Last month, He failed us. He left for the heavens.

On the 10th day, We underwent the customary head shaving rite amidst misery and sadness. This time too, We brothers sulked.

We went home and cried in my mother's arms.
The rain drops hide our tears,
We have lost our only sheltering umbrella.
In the cloudy night sky, A bright star twinkles at me, I know It's my Dad.