Pot of Marigold

The rain had just stopped and Asha stepped out into the garden. Her science teacher had told the class to prepare the soil in a pot, sow seeds or plant seedlings and bring it to school after it started giving out new leaves.

Asha was not so keen to sow seeds and watch the plant grow. She had seen her mother plant a bright green stem with a few leaves in a pot last week. So she made up her mind to take that plant when it was due to be taken to school.

Pot luck

As she skipped her way through the pots lined in neat rows in one corner of the garden, Asha stumbled on a stone, but she held on to a small shelving unit near the wall, which held garden supplies. Out fell a packet of seeds into a pot just below the supplies rack. Asha was a little scared. Her mother was an avid gardener and she knew what to plant and when. She organised her packet of seeds well so that she could plant them in the right season.

Aghast at what she had done, she looked into the pot to find that some seeds had spilled into it. She was scared her mother would scold her when she found that some seeds were missing from the packet. Crouching down near the pot, she thought about what she should do. It had been raining on and off for the past few days and the soil in the pot was wet. So she could not get the seeds out of the wet soil. The only thing she could do was to cover it with more soil and she left the place quickly.

A few days later she was helping her grandmother pick guavas from the garden. As she passed the supplies rack, she remembered the fallen seeds. She quickly knelt beside the pot and to her surprise found that there were little green shoots peeping out of the soil. She was so excited that she got up to run and tell her mother. However, she decided against it, wondering how her mother would react when she hears about the missing seeds.

Now that she had witnessed the growth of the new plants, Asha could not contain her excitement. She was scared to pour water on the plants lest they die, so she sprinkled water carefully on the shoots and waited with bated breath on how the full-grown plant would look. She also began taking interest in the other plants her mother had planted.

There was a designated place for every kind of plant. There was small corner where different coloured roses bloomed. There was a corner for Hibiscus, cacti and flowerbeds, which were planted according to the season. The far corners of the garden had a vegetable patch and some fruit trees like guavas and sapota. While surveying the garden she was proud that her parents took time to tend such a lovely garden. She made up her mind to help her mother in her gardening chores.

One day while she was sprinkling water, her mother came by and looked at what she was doing kneeling in front of the pot.

She saw the plants, which were now growing in a cluster and told Asha, that they were Marigolds. She also said that she had some seeds in a packet and she could plant them in another pot if she wanted.

So Asha now told her the truth that she had spilled the seeds on to the pot and that she was watering it regularly and watching them grow. Her mother was happy that she was sensible enough to take care of it by watering regularly.

The next week when it was time for her to take a plant to school, Asha proudly took her pot of Marigold to school and told her teacher how she had planted them.

Published in The Hindu Young World Nov5, 2013

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Together, Apart and in Love

Whenever I go to my mom’s place I wake up at 5a.m. and go for a walk along with her. Initially it just started as a walk, talking generally about people around us, long lost relatives et.al, until one day I saw them. They were sitting close together, heads bent as though telling a secret. It was a beautiful sight. This continued for the time I was there. I made sure I had a look at them when I passed that place every day and they were there in the same place till dawn broke. To this day I see them sitting in the same place and I wonder what they talk about.

• Looking back at our own lives, I wondered how many times have I sat down with the better half to watch a movie or just to talk. I count the times we sat together. Meals are had together sans conversation, as one or the other would have work related thoughts or calls interrupting us. The only speak we hear during meal times is ‘pass the curry’ or ‘pass the roti’ and we get on with our work.

  Back in the hills, I witness another couple who are always together. I have never seen them alone. They finish all their work and sit together for a bit of rest, but always apart. It is a wonderful feeling to watch them go about their work, eat together in the fields, drink some water and then rest a few feet apart from each other. Always. I always know the time they are around and I make sure I see them once a day at that time. I am filled with a sense of awe and peace just looking at them. I am sure they are in love too, as I feel they are together in a companionable silence, where words are never important but being together is, even if sitting apart.

  Looking at them I feel at peace and a sense of compassion washes over me. I compare my life with theirs and feel there is nothing different, we show love in our own ways, in this case even though sitting apart, always being there. A life in comfortable silence.

  For all those who wonder about the two couples in the above story, the couple in the first para are two black ravens and the couple in the third para are two beautiful sparrows. I am only saddened by one fact that I have never been able to capture them on camera. But I guess that is also good in a way. The sights you fill in your heart cannot be captured in any camera. These birds have taught me a valuable lesson in love. I have never felt the need for public display of affection and these birds have reinforced that thought in me. Just being there for someone is because of the inherent love one has for the other. It is not necessary for it to be displayed all the time. One can be together, apart and in love. 

Beginning Blues

Started to write copy
over cups of hot coffee.
But it was a waste of paper
as thinking went for a sixer.

Then all of a sudden
thoughts came in a torrent.
But with a broken pen,
the words went unwritten.

When at last the pen was found,
the thoughts did not rebound,
only did my temples pound,
because of the generator's sound.

When at last I did write
it was nothing very bright,
but what I thought right,
duly put out of sight.

Disappointment


Thunder clapped over the terrain,
The farmer looked up at the falling rain.
As the pellets fell on parched plain,
Smiling, he counted his future gain.

The rain poured all day long,
inundating fields of corn.
Nature looked so bleak so forlorn;
Dark clouds proclaimed a storm.

Winds howled and cows mooed,
lightning flashed, thunder followed.
Houses collapsed
and people fled.

Nature and her fury gone,
the sun did shine the next morn
on many a collapsed barn.
Thus descended calm after the storm.

The farmer had to look for grain,
as storm always raised Cain.
Now fields of corn a distant dream,
the land echoed the farmer's scream.

Sparrows

This is my cinquain, about two sparrows that I watch regularly. Cinquains are inspired by the Japanese Haiku and Tanka. This is my first attempt so please bear with me. :)

Sparrows two,

Male, female, foraging food.

Having eaten their catch, flit together.

Picking grass for the nest, sit on branch,

always apart.

Parrot-Talk

Bagging window seats had never been a problem during school days. The window-seat bagged by me was in the last row of my class, a vantage point to gaze at the well-maintained garden of our school, watching squirrels at play, clouds taking shape in the distant horizon and the parrot- astrologer at business.

The parrot and its keeper came to squat near the school fence under the shade of a large neem tree, during the latter part of school days. The keeper would call the bird by name and the bird would come out of its cage. When he asked it to pick out a card, it did so with a slant of its head as though it was weighing the future of the person who had come to get a reading of his fortune.

There were times when the parrot walked about, mixing the cards trying to pick the best or the worst (which is possible) and after what seemed an eternity would pick up the card. After cajoling and coaxing by the keeper, it would deposit the card dutifully at his hand and get back to its cage in a resigned manner.

The keeper would then read the prediction on the card, which was generally written beneath the pictures of various gods and goddesses. The astrologer would read in a monotone, while glancing at the parrot (for approval?) and the fortune seeker. Finally the keeper would end with, “If you go to the temple of so and so your woes would disappear,” at which the listener would nod and pay the price for the reading.

School-breaks generally meant parrot watching. Though the parrot and its keeper would be literally free for most part of the day, watching the parrot was a treat. It was almost always busy cracking a nut and made crooning noises when the nut slipped its grip. At times, the keeper would engage the parrot by talking to it.

Though there is no scientific endorsement of parrot astrology, many people approached him, just to watch the parrot catwalk from the cage and back to it. The keeper was also so proud of his bird that he always had a piece of coal and a red chilly outside the cage to ward off evil. He was also proud of the fact that his parrot could never go wrong.

A parrot-watching session always left me wondering that if the man and his parrot could help read people’s fortune, was the man with the parrot destined to a seat on the roadside., earning a meager sum which would be barely enough to get him one square meal a day.

After school the parrot had a lot of young visitors, who would ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ its antics while waiting for the school bus. As a special treat for the children, the parrot would be let out of its cage. A cheeky boy once told the man if he let out the parrot, it would fly off. The man said that his little Raja would never fail him.

Years passed, school led to college and a job later on. Once on a visit home I visited the school. The school had acquired a new building. The neem tree remained, but the familiar sight of the parrot-astrologer was not to be seen.

A few days later at a fruit shop in town, I saw the familiar face of the astrologer. Except for a few grey hairs and a slight stoop, he had not changed much. I came to know that he was the owner of the shop. Surprise writ large on my face I enquired about his parrot. His face clouded when he replied that the parrot had died long ago and he had not gone back to parrot astrology again.

It was then that I asked the question, “Aren’t you better off now?” He said that before dying the parrot had picked a card for him, after which fortune had smiled upon him. I was left speechless! The parrot had brought luck to the astrologer after all.





(This was my first short-story that I wrote after finishing college. It was accepted by a short story monthly named "Galleon", which is defunct now.) 

Intoxication

Wandering lonely as a cloud,

the Wordsworth in me was doing the rounds.

Along came a bumble bee,

to settle on a lone red poppy.

Sniffing into the flower she went,

coming up for air she hummed.

Minutes ticked as she flitted,

delirious with the nectar sucked.

That’s when I remembered some poppy talk,

of sniffing, smoking and taking pot.

Powdered seeds of poppy, taken with coffee,

could make one dance in the dark.

It made me think of the bumble bee,

that can’t flit in a straight line you see.

If poppy nectar could do that to you,

Oh poor bumblebee, what will you do?

All of a sudden it turned windy,

The poppy turned a little floppy.

One by one, its petals dropped,

Falling to the dirt amongst the crops.

Along came a laborer,

who snipped the bud absently.

 Added it to his tobacco chews,

To later sniff away his blues.